#even when he leaves he can't stay away along. gotham's in his head. in his soul. it's where he's alive and it's where his life is drained

[amaraudermind]

Something something Bruce love Gotham because it's his home, jason loves Gotham because it's in his soul, Duke loves Gotham because it's his family, Steph loves Gotham on purpose

[fcthots]

thinking about fake dating jason and falling in love.

it happens slowly and quietly, so slow you don’t even notice it.

and then you turn around and you’re head over heels for him, no idea how it happened.

-🍓

Anon, if i ever gain the ability to write full fics, this is the first thing i'm writing.

might turn this into an au and let y'all request scenes (tattooartist!jason style)

It started off simple. He needed a date to the gala. the press was brutal and he was a Wayne. He didn't want to put anyone in that sort of spotlight. He had a dark past and didn't want anyone to get dragged into it. You were bored, needed a date to a wedding, and you cared about your friend. Also, it helped that he was willing to pay you because he felt bad about the whole press thing. It was nothing more than an arrangement between friends, a way for you to help him out. He's always been there for you, no matter what. You didn't think twice about returning the favor.

He was sweet in public. Held your hand, kissed your cheek, always asked if you were up for a kiss when he thought it was necessary. His hand was always warm and comforting on your waist. It grounded. you, kept you in the moment with him. You loved hanging out with him. The arrangement had let allowed you to hand out with him all the time, anywhere and everywhere. There were some comments made about you in the press, but the negative ones didn't bother you (how could they think you were the bad influence, secret identity or not, he was the one with murders under his belt!) and there were some nice things. You ha your past delved into, which wasn't exactly fun, but Jason had warned you it would happen and oracle made sure everything traceable wasn't bad. Overall, it was fun. You got to hang out with your best friend 24/7 and you got some new instagram followers and fun edits made of you along the way.

When it did inevitably get a little rough, Jason was there for you, like always. He took care of all the truly nasty things the press had to say about you. He always respected your boundaries, and he took you on vacation when it all got too much, even if he had to leave early for a Gotham emergency.

Things had to be believable, of course, so there needed to be couple's pictures on your social media. He needed to lay down with you. He needed to press his body up against yours. he needed to wrap his arms around you. He needed to draw you so close to him that there wasn't any given one inch of space in between you. He needed to press his face to your chest and close his eyes.

Right?

He just needed the picture to look believable. That was all.

So why did he stay cuddled into you? Why did he fall asleep there like he was made to fit? Like it was the only place he's ever wanted to be?

And why did it make you want.

After that, you spent all of your time wanting. Wanting more. The arrangement was perfect. It gave you everything it was supposed to. So why did you want more? Why did you wish Jason would stop apologizing when he said he had to kiss you? Why did your heart sink when his hands left yours after you were away from prying eyes? When did the edits people made of you go from fun to painful, a reminder of the way you wished he really looked at you? Why did you wish he wasn't faking it.

And, fuck that hurt, because he was just faking it all, right? He only looked at you like you were his world when someone else was looking. He didn't want you.

Not like you wanted him.

"Why do you look like that?" His voice shakes you out of your thoughts. Your eyes drift to him where he's sitting on the couch, his phone long forgotten timing out and turning off in his hand.

"What?" Your eyebrows had just lightly drawn together, your voice duller than usual.

"You look sad. What's on your mind?" His face looks a little worried. His eyes searched yours. You hope he can't see the truth lying beneath them.

What were you supposed to tell him? That this wasn't just a game to you anymore? That you can't stomach him holding your hand not because he means it? That you're taking advantage of him? That when he kisses you, you pretend it's real?

You don't meet his eyes. "I can't do this anymore."

[halfagone]

Before The Wayne Came A Kane

Martha Wayne née Kane came from a very prestigious family even before she married her husband, the illustrious M.D. Thomas Wayne. Sadly, her family never supported her union with Thomas, so she largely cut them out of her life once she married and that certainly had not changed when she had a son.

Her strained relationship with the rest of her family is particularly apparent when it's revealed, at the release of her and Thomas' respective wills after their unexpected, tragic deaths, that she would not give her brothers or sisters-in-law custody of Bruce. They may be the last of his living relatives, but even in death she would never allow them to touch her baby boy. Hence, his care is left to the head butler, one Alfred Pennyworth.

She did have two sister, though. Two baby sisters, one who had been disowned and disavowed from the family long before her, named Alicia. And one who was far too young to take in her son, even if Martha had allowed it. Her name is Madeline Kane. As the only other acknowledged daughter left from Roderick and Elizabeth Kane, she is left to carry the burden of her older sister's legacy. And what a burden it was, to be constantly compared to a dead woman her family seemed to adore and loathe in strides.

It's really no wonder that the moment she gets the chance, she leaves her family in Gotham to attend a university in Wisconsin. There, she meets Jack Fenton. He can be a little clumsy sometimes, but he has an eye for engineering and doesn't like her for her family's name or wealth. He calls her "Maddie" when she says so, and he doesn't ask about the change.

She falls in love and the two are wedded in the blink of an eye, Maddie pregnant with their first child only a few years after graduation. In her family's eyes, it just further proves that any Kane daughter is cursed and doomed to failure. (Beth understands this. Bette learns this. Kate knows this.)

And all too similarly to her elder sister, when her son is just fourteen years old, she is killed: yet another unexpected, tragic death. Her husband and her daughter perish along with her. Just like her older sister, the only one left is her baby boy.

Only, Maddie wasn't nearly as forthcoming with her will, and there is no guardian marked for custody in his papers. The Kanes, who proclaim they are his rightful family, are more than happy to take advantage of this.

Bruce isn't close to his family, beyond perhaps Kate. But if there is one thing that he knows it's that his parents didn't give his estranged relatives custody of him for a reason. Alfred is stingy with the details, but he can confirm that much.

Bruce is left to fight an uphill battle, helping a mourning boy heal from his loss and fighting his extended family's attempts for custody at every turn.

More ramblings under the cut:

See this guy right here?

This is Jacob Kane, Kate's father, Martha's brother, and Bruce's uncle. He's got the distinct red hair and do you know who else has red hair? Maddie. Jacob is a respected military officer and Maddie, in general, has always given me strong former U.S. agent vibes. But regardless, it makes sense that Maddie would know things or learned how to fight at an early age if her older brother left for military service.

Also, I just love showing Bruce's extended family and how twisted, complicated his family was long before he adopted so many children. And this also helps explain why Maddie is so cagey with her background. She only has Alicia left really, all the rest she keeps out and away for good reason.

But she can't protect Danny from them forever.

Plus, there's this really cool possibility for Danny to stay with the Kanes for a while and explore that avenue before he's ultimately brought into the Wayne fold. Danny gets to see what the upper crust Gotham elites look like with his own two eyes, beyond Sam's stories.

[more-cardigan-than-woman]

The Babysitter- Day 7

Summary: All you want for your last day with your bodyguard is a quiet day at home, good luck with that.

Theif!Reader x The Red Hood

3.1k

Warnings: SMUT18+, public sex, swearing, choking, teasing, angry fights, canon typical violence.

Day 6

“What are we going to do today?” You ask, rolling onto your side so you can look Jason in the eye. Jason, the name has been swirling around in your head since you learned it and now you don't think you'll ever forget it or the man it belongs to.

“What do you wanna do?” His hand creeps up the small of your back bringing up close to him, “we could order in, stay here all day.”

“We could but I think I should make a thank you gift for Harley.”

“Why?”

“This is kind of her fault.”

“She paid me, if anything I should get a gift.”

“Well, how about I make some cookies and we save some for her and you can eat most of them.”

“I thought you could only make eggs,” he jokes, groaning as he hears the familiar chords of his ringtone, “Hold that thought,” he groans even louder reaching over you and staring at his screen, “Fuck, what do these idiots want?” Jason sits up, his arm pulling you onto his chest as he does, “couldn’t they just let me have one more day?”

“Don’t know about you, but I’ve never been lucky.” you joke, pulling the blankets up tightly over you.

“What is it Jamie? I told you not to bother me.”

“Sorry Boss, just that we got word of the Penguin doing a trade in the zoo and-”

“It's today.”

“I sent Scarlett and Loxley to check it out 2 hours ago and I ain't heard from them.”

“Shit. Leave it with me.”

“Problem?”

“Yeah, trouble maker. I gotta go,” Jason grumbles, reluctantly pulling away from you and climbing from your bed.

“Go?” you follow him, shivering as the morning air hits your naked body, “Where are we going?”

“We are not going anywhere. I am going,” he starts to search the ground for his armor, pulling on his pants when he finds them, “You’re going to stay here.”

“I don’t think I am,” you dig through your drawers pulling out a black pair of leggings, “You said it yourself, I get into too much trouble when I’m alone, so I have to come with you.”

“This is going to be dangerous,” he pauses as he pulls his shirt over his head, “You're staying here.”

“Even more reason for me to come.”

“Trouble maker,” he levels his eyes at you, “Don’t make me restrain you.”

“I won’t, just let me come.”

“Do you promise to do as you're told?”

“I want to say yes, but-”

“That would be a lie.”

“Yeah, how about I promise not to needlessly get myself into danger?”

“Ok fine, but hurry up. We’re leaving in 2 minutes, we gotta get to the aquarium.”

Xx

“Why do I have to wear this?” you ask, tugging on the annoying domino mask that he made you wear. Not only was it too big, but the whiteout eyes made it kind of weird to see.

“Incase someone recognises you.” Jason says like it's obvious, he doesn't want you to be in danger because he brought you into his business. His brain starts to whirl with what's going to happen to you tomorrow after he leaves you, if he leaves you. He has to leave you, this deal was only for the week and he can't abandon his business for longer. Jason wonders what you’ll do, if you’ll remember him or if you'll just get on with your chaotic little life without him, maybe find a nice henchman and leave Gotham.

“Jason, no one in the history of my life has ever recognised me. I’m barely a blip on anyone's radar.”

“I don't believe that's true,” he pulls you in close, his fingers grazing along his mask on your face, “You’re unforgettable,” leaning his shiny helmet into your forehead the cold sending a tingle down your spine, “You ready to go in?”

“I am. Let's go get your boys.”

“And you are-”

“Not going to endanger myself for no reason.”

“Good girl,” he gives you a tight hug, before leading you into the depths of the aquarium.

Xx

“OO a shark,” you whisper as a reef shark swims over your head, the tiny little colourful fishes swimming all around you, the dim blue lights and the sunlight filtering through the open tanks as you walk deeper and deeper inside.

“We’re getting close,” he whispers in return, his hand falling to the gun at his hip, “I know it's hard for you, but try to be quiet.” 

You nod, zipping your lips and locking them with an imaginary key. You give his hand a gentle squeeze as you notice a shadow down the path and you start to hear voices. You shoot a finger out, pointing them out to Jason, but he grabs your hand pulling it back and pressing you into the glass wall.

“Stay here,” his voice harsh and threatening, but his brain’s full of worry. He knows what these men are like, what they do to people who oppose them and worse he knows how that disgusting bird brain treats his prisoners, “You hear me, Trouble Maker?” you nod again, thankful that he forced you to silence, fuck its so much easier to lie when you dont have to talk.

He stalks off, his hands close to his guns as he heads down the left side of the path. He melts into the shadows as he walks, a skill he probably learned from the bat you imagine. His ass so full in those tight ass pants he wears and with the swagger of a man about to go on a rampage, jesus you want to fuck him so badly right now. 

Instead, you pull a gun from under your shirt. He didn't see it or he didn't want to or he was happy you brought something to protect yourself. But really, that was just for show. The real weapon was in your pocket, just a snippet of it. One tiny leaf wrapped in a zip lock bag. It was all the weapon you need. 

Slowly you creep down the right side of the hall, the gunfire already echoing through the glass building. There's no water at your feet so he hasn't hit the glass yet, which means he's interrogating them. His men must be in a different room. You sink onto your tiptoes, crouching behind a desk, a chair and slinking through the shadow when you hear his voice, “Where are my men?” he shouts at them, “tell me where they are and you’ll walk out of there.” and he thinks you're a bad liar, anyone could tell that was a lie. You almost swear as you stumble a bit over the rubbish on the ground, not no rubbish, files. Rolling them up you stick them into the back of your leggings, you can look at them later. For now you need to find Jason's men, they have to be here somewhere. 

You push yourself closer to the wall as more men rush into the room, not noticing you at all as they start to rush the Red Hood.

When the wave of men have all entered the room, you slink down the corridor from which they came. Several doors line the hallway, shit. Which one? You try to think over the violent noise coming from the other room, when you hear a thud behind the second door.

Locked. Fuck, reaching into your boot you pull out your lockpicks and within seconds you’ve got the door open. The men inside stare up at you confused, their bound hands and gagged mouths mumbling something. You pull the gag from the one with the dark hair, “Behind ye lass,” you spin around and see a man dressed in a suit, far from the thugs you saw in the other room. Your pin still in your hand you stick it in the man's throat, his blood bursting out from the hole and covering you, like you're stuck in some bloody anime. When he falls to the floor you grab Jason’s men's bindings quickly untying them, “You wit da boss, lass?” the man winks before helping his friend to his feet, “Names Scarlett,” 

You nod, gesturing them to follow you as you head back down to where Red was. You stop them at the corner, peeking around to see Red surrounded by bodies and covered in blood. Fuck, why is that such a sexy look on him? 

He’s so focused on keeping the men from the corridor he thinks you’re in, that he doesn't see you, doesn't see his men until you're screaming his name and firing a shot right beside his head. Jason doesnt even realise what you’ve done until he feels the body fall down beside him. 

“Red, Run!” you shout at him, throwing your baggie at the crowd of bodies on the ground. 

Jason sees you grab Scarlett's hand, something new digs into his heart, his eyes fixed on where you’re dragging both men behind you. You’re covered in blood, why are you covered in blood? Are you hurt? What was in that bag? How did you find his men? 

“I told you to stay put.” he snarls at you as you run past him grabbing his hand with your free one, “Scarlett,” he says equally as aggressively.

“Whos dis lass boss?” Scarlett asks as he picks up Loxley and throws him over his shoulder, “I like her.”

“Not yours, is Loxley ok?” Red puffs as you run, a large sound behind him makes him pick up the pace, as you race forward and out of the aquarium, followed by a mass of vines, the vines retreating as soon as they hit the sun.

Huffing, you lean against the walls of the aquarium, “Are you ok?” you ask Jason, reaching out to touch him only for him to flinch away from you.

“Blood,” Jason takes a deep breath, he can't do this right now. He needs to get the boys back to base. You’re not hurt and with that relief another emotion fills the worries void,“Forward.” He directs them, pushing the party towards their base. He slips his arm under Loxleys, helping Scarlet carry him. Jason doesn't look at you, he- it hurts, you didn't listen and now something happened. Something worse could have happened. He didn't- he can't- it's too much to deal with right now, so instead he focuses on his men and getting them to a doctor.

Xx 

“Are you ever going to talk to me again?” you ask as you sit on the rooftop as Jason walks out of The Red Hoods main hideout. The men down stairs being looked after by the shiftiest looking doctor you've met since Harley.

“Here,” he throws a set of clothes at you, “I can’t-”

“Cant what? Look at me?” you stand, dropping the clothes to the ground, “I'm not fucking sorry for what I did and I'd do it again. I saved those men and oh,” you pull the papers from your pants, “got you these too,” you throw them at his feet, “Don't know what they are but I'm sure the GCPD would be interested in seeing them.”

“Trouble maker,” Jason sighs, noticing how the blood on you is dry now, caked into your hair and into your clothes. Why can’t you just do what your fucking told? Why does everything have to be an argument?

“Fucking hell, just tell me what the problem is.” you shout, throwing the domino mask at him, “you think I give a shit if someone kills me? You think I'm worried about a little blood? I don’t know if you noticed Mr high and mighty but this broody, silent, macho act. It does fuck all for me, so why don’t you just tell me what the fuck is going on in that huge head of yours.”

“Stop,” he walks towards you, his eyes stare down at the ground while his hands reach out for you.

“Stop talking,” you step back, “stop walking head first into danger, stop trying to help” you stumble as you reach the banister on the roof, “What the fuck do you want me to do Jason? Just sit around and wait to die? Wait for you to leave me?”

“I don't like seeing you like this.”

“Like what? A mess? Because news flash, I've been this way forever!”

“No,” his eyes slowly rise, taking in the blood on your shoes, soaking your shirt, your hair and the tiny bruise on your arm. He reaches up to your face, grasping your chin when you try to turn away from him, “Angry at me and covered in blood.”

“Not-”

“Shut up,” he pinches your cheeks together, “can I talk for once?”

“Fine, but you've only got 12 more hours to punish me before-” his hand moves over your mouth, the other wrapping around your middle and stepping you back from the ledge.

“I thought-” he peers up at the bat signal in the sky before turning back to you, “I thought it was your blood, that something had happened to you. But you're capable, way more capable than I thought and I'm sorry for that. This death wish of yours, I- I just-" he shakes his head trying to align his thoughts, "That's not even the worst of it,” you try to mumble behind his hand but he just holds it tighter, “I don't- if they had killed you I don't know what I would've done, but I know it would've been bad. And I havent- I haven't felt like that in a very long time.” he releases your mouth.

“I didn't mean to worry you. But like you said I'M capable. I can look after myself Jason.”

“Yeh but like you said, I still got 12 hours left to punish you.” he smirks down at you, “not only for not listening,” he pushes you down on the bannister, “But for all those curse words you just threw at me,” he towers over you, making you lean so far back that your head is almost dangling off the side of the building, “You going to be a good girl and take your punishment?”

“Yes.” your mind starts to swirl as the blood rushes to your head and Jason's huge hand slaps onto your pussy, “Shit.” you pant, as he does it again, “Not- you’re.”

“No, I’m not counting,” he grabs hold of your throat to keep you steady, “You can take it, cant you?”

“I will.”

“Good girl, then take it.” he orders, continuing his slapping, his eyes watching you intently. That fucking blood still on your pretty face, he wants to rub it off almost as much as he wants to slap the asshole smirk from it. He sees your leg tightening, your head bobbing like you want to sit up and look at him. But you haven't earned it, you frightened the shit out of him and this is the only way he knows how to drill the lesson into your chaotic little head, “You going to cum, Trouble Maker?”

“Ah huh.” your legs flail and your throat constricts under his hand, your wheezing only seeming to egg Jason on.

“Go on then-” he stops his movements releasing you from his hold and leaving you hanging over the side of his warehouse, “-Cum.” he laughs at you, your hands fisting at your sides as you slide down onto the ground, “Is it really that hard to listen to me?” Jason's hand grabs at your hair, pulling you to your feet, “I told you to cum,”

“Yeah, I get it. If I don't listen, I don't get -fuck you-" you glare at him when he laughs at you again, "what I want.”

“You still swearing at me, you little brat?” he yanks on your hair, exposing your neck to him, “While you're covered in someone else's blood, you really have no self preservation instincts do you?”

“Does that frighten you?” yes, yes it does. It frightened the shit out of him. But instead of answering he picks you up, throwing you over his huge shoulder, slapping you on the ass and he starts to walk, “Where are we going?” you ask, poking your fingers into his squishy but, “you’re ass looks great from this angle, just so you know,” you slap him and that earns you another, “This your kind of torture just throwing me around and slapping me?”

“Is it working?”

“It’s working me up, if that was the plan then yes.”

“Good girl. Is that-”

“Rain.” you smile up at the sky, the tiny droplets of water falling into your eyes.

“That'll do,” Jason drags you from his shoulder, setting you down on your feet in front of him. The rain splattering over your face, over his. He wipes the droplets from his eyes before moving his hand to your face and wiping the now wet blood from your face, “Much better.” He smiles leaning down, his thumb brushes the blood from your lips, “The only thing I wanna taste is you, Trouble Maker.” slowly he peels your soaking clothes from you, the rain falling down your body like little droplets of ice sending shivers all over you. His hand cups your jaw bringing your face up to his, “I had planned on torturing you some more,” his fingers peel his jacket from his shoulders before throwing it on the bare concrete, “But fuck,” he picks you up his strong hand on your ass as he lowers you slowly onto his jacket, “How can I deny you when you look at me like that?” 

“Sofite and so close to your men,” you tease him, trying to wrap your legs over his thick thighs.

“Don’t mock me when I'm feeling generous, Trouble Maker,” he threatens, the head of his cock just teasing at your pussy, “Or do you not want it?” he leans back, laughing when you try to chase him only to hit the cold concrete, “I can wrap you up and take you home, is that what you want?”

“NO,” your arms extend out to him, trying to pull him back, “Please Jason, don't leave me like this.”

“So pretty when you beg,” his body covers yours, blocking the rain from you as he slowly fucks into you, both of you letting out little moans as you press together. His hand slides down your thigh lifting it up to his hip so he can plunge deeper into you, “Take my cock so well, my little trouble maker,” his fingers dig into your cheeks holding your face so close that you can feel his reggae breathing in your mouth, “so fucking beautiful.”

“Jason, fuck.” you pant, arching up so that his soft tummy grazes over your clit, your legs tightening around him, “Jason I'm going to cum, please let me cum,”

“No.”

“Why, please, please I want it so bad.”

“You want to listen to me don’t you? To be good?”

“Yes.”

“Then be good and hold it in.”

“Fuck, how- when you- like that Jason?”

“Baby,” he rests his forehead on top of yours, his eyes boring into yours, “say my name again.”

“Jason, fuck I’m- fuck - so full of you.”

“Sounds so good when you say it.”

“Right there, Jason. Please, more, Jason.”

“Fuck, you’re clenching down so hard on me,” he smiles at you, his teeth nipping at your lips, “You need it don’t you.”

“I need you.”

“Only I can make you feel like this.”

“Yes, so full,” you scream as you orgasm creeps over the crest, “Jason I-”

“Fuck, me too.”

“Give it to me, please Jason. I want it,” you beg, your eyes pleading with him as he pounds into you. His lips meeting yours with so much fire it almost burns the rain away, “Yes, like-” you moan into his kiss as your orgasm washes over you, your pussy gripping his cock so tight that there's no way he could pull out, it convulses milking his cum from him and painting your guts in a warmth that seems to fill your soul as much as your sopping pussy. 

Jason slows down, his cock just grinding inside of you as you lay in the rain. He stops you when you try to move, keeping you held down beneath him, “I’m not done being inside you yet, Trouble Maker.”

“We’re going to get colds out here.” you joke, trying to discern the way he's staring at you right now. Like something is going on in his brain that you can't quite see.

“I just need a minute,” his hand holds your face, keeping your eyes on him, “I wanna memorize your pretty face.”

“Why would you need to- you’re going to disappear aren't you?” you sigh, turning your head from him, “just go now Jason. I- I cant stand watching people leave.”

“Trouble maker,” he pulls out from you, sitting up on his legs and pulling his jacket around you, “look at me please.”

“No. If you’re leaving, just go.”

“This is my place, why would I leave?” he laughs, standing up and offering you his hand. You stand and as he expected all the wind is right where it belongs in your sails. You tighten his jacket around you, glaring at him with the fury of 1000 suns and fuck its adorable. Why are you so cute when you’re mad? Especially now that he can really see your face, fuck now he definitely wants to bend you over the railing.

“Fuck you!” you stomp, your hair sopping wet and hitting you in the face when you thrash your head around looking for the direction of the door.

“Doors to your left,” he teases.

“I can find the door.” You start to stomp to your left, shivering in Jason's jacket and inhaling his wondrous scent. Fucking prick, just going to let you leave and shiver to death. When you’re almost at the door you feel a strong hand wrap around your arm and drag you back, “You wanted me to leave Jason, I'm going.”

“I was just playing Trouble Maker,” his hand slips under your chin, tilting your head up to his, “Not nice when people fuck with you is it?”

“This your way of telling me you care?”

“Is it enough for you?”

“For now. Maybe for later you can get me something shiny.”

“Later?” 

“Yeah, unless you are going to disappear tomorrow when your deal with Harls is done. In which case, I will continue to angrily stomp away”

“No, your brand of chaos is like heroin to me,” he picks you up and you wrap your legs around him as he walks you towards the door, “and I’ve always had an addictive personality.”

Taglist:

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[youngstarfishphilosopher]

Smoke and Mirrors

Yandere Two-Face X Oblivious Spouse Reader

(This one shot is based off the song Smoke and Mirrors. Warning: Mentions of kidnapping, being held at gunpoint, implied murder, extremely unhealthy behavior. )

You had always been known to see the good in everyone. It was one of the many things that Harvey loved about you.

Even from a young age, you had always had a good heart and always thought the best of the world,which is hard when you live in the hellhole known a Gotham City.

Although Gotham had taken away some of the innocent ways you view the world, the city never completely got rid of your optimistic and loving personality.And Harvey loved it.

The older you and Harvey got, the more he was certain he wanted to marry you. The first time he ever asked you out he was a nervous wreak. But he was overjoyed when you said yes.

After a while of dating, you decided to make your relationship official and go married two years later. Although life wasn't perfect, the two of you were happy with each other.

You worked as a kindergarten teacher while Harvey was pretty big on politics,mayors,law, and all the really random boring stuff you didn't have any interest in. But it made Harvey happy, so you were more than accepting of his interests.

Everything felt perfect. . . until it wasn't.

That one fateful day were everything in your life changed. You had been just finishing up with your shift when you got a call from the hospital.

"Hello?" You asked raising the phone up to your ear.

"Hello, Is this Y/N Dent?"

"Yes, this is. Can I help you."

You were still in the middle of your shift. So you assume that the person on the phone was one of the children's gaurdian.

Oh, how wrong you were.

"I'm one of the doctors from ________ hospital. I am calling to inform you that you husband has been in an accident."

You froze all in hearing those words. An accident? What kind of accident? Is he hurt? Is he DEAD?

"Hello?"

You snapped out of your shock when you heard the woman speak again. "Are you still there?"

"Y-yeah." You respond, your voice full of worry. "I'm still here."

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Harvey hated how he looked now. He had never been the same since that mob boss splashed acid on his face. He thought that once you saw his face, you would leave him forever, disgusted by the man you had once married.

But you... Oh sweet and kind you, stayed.

Even when Twoface came along, even with the switching and colliding personalities, even with the violent outbursts, you never gave up on him.

They both started growing obsessed, possessive,unstable. They made sure to keep there criminal activities out of your knowledge and leave you oblivious to the fact that they had been making the other people closest to you drop like flies.

This included Twoface. In all honesty, you didn't actually know about Twoface. Harvey just always played it off as him just having a really bad day whenever Twoface came through.

Neither of them could stand how some people, especially your co-workers, would look at you. How you were oblivious to the fact that so many of them wanted you for themselves.

They Despised it. How you never knew how much you had been hurting them. How you always gave those good for nothing meat sacks your attention.

Just who do you think you are to go and do something like that? Don't you know that you belong to them? Your THEIR spouse!

They would always come home annoyed and angry at those co-workers of yours. And at you sometimes as well.But you would always start acting all innocent and concerned,so they couldn't really stay mad at you for long. Harvey would just brush you off and say he had a rough day.

Twoface wanted to confront you head on. Show you a little murder or two and put it into your sweet little head that you can't go around doing something like that.

Harvey was opposed to the idea at first. Until one day he couldn't take it anymore. Two-face's idea had begun to sound extremely appeasing.

Especially because of one co-worker you had seemed to become attached to. They decided that they would be the perfect person for your punishment.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Your head spun in a daze as you opened your eyes. You awoke finding yourself tied to a chair in a room you were unfamiliar with. As your eyesight started to clear up, you noticed two other figures in the room.

You soon recognized them. One of them was your husband, and the other one was your co-worker. The co-worker that was like a best friend to you.

You starred in horror as you watch your friend , who was bound, blindfolded and gagged immediately receive a slap across their face by your husband.

"Stop struggling!"

"H-harv..."

You were terrified as you watched the man you loved hurt your best friend. He had never acted this way before. It was almost as if he wasn't your husband at all.

He immediately turned to you with a scowl on his face once he heard the sound of your voice . "Well, Well, Well. look who finally decided to wake up frome their beauty rest."

Your fear soon turned into anger one you had came back to your senses.

"W-what... Just what the hell is wrong with you?! What on earth did you do to them!?"

"Harvey's" eyes darkened at your outburst. As he walked up to you , regret seeped through you.

"Harvey" roughly grabbed you by your shoulders and lifted you and the chair you were tied to slightly off the ground to reach his face, making you let out a small wimper.

"Don't you dare raise your voice at me Y/N!" He snapped, holding your shoulders so hard that you started to think he was going to break them.

"Harv! S-stop it, your hurting me!" You wined. You then let out a small yelp as he immediately dropped you and almost made you fall over in your chair in the process.

"Hate to break it to ya sweetheart, but I ain't Harvey." Twoface said as he pulled out a pistol from its holder. That immediately shut you up. He took immediate notice of this.

Straddling himself onto your lap he raised the pistol to your chin and forced you to look up at him. Although his eyes were dark and bloodthirsty, they had a glint of amusement in them as well.

"Listen up darling." Twoface whispered into your ear. "Me and you are going to play a little game. And maybe, just maybe, I'll let that little home wreaker go free. How does that sound?"

You look past him to your friend. What other choice did you have? You couldn't just let your friend die.

Giving a satisfied smirk when you slowly nodded, Twoface put his pistol back into the holster. Now resting his arms on the top back of the chair, he sat there looking down on you.

"First things first, I want you to tell me that you love us."

"W-what?" You asked confused. "I don't un-"

"I know you heard me!" Twoface snaped. "Look me in my eyes and tell me that you love us!"

Flinching slightly from his out burst you took took a small pause before mumbling "I love you."

Twoface was getting aggravated at this point. "You and I both know that you can do better then that Y/N." He said now leaning even closer to you which made you extremely uncomfortable. "Lets try that again sweetheart, and this time, act like you mean it."

Taking a deep breath look looked up into the man's eyes and calmly stated the words that he so desperately wanted to hear. "I love you darling."

Twoface let out a small chuckle. "See, that wasn't so hard, now was it?"

You didn't say anything.

"The next thing I want you to do." He states, getting even closer to your face."Is give us a kiss."

Wanting to get this whole game of his over with you immediately smashed your lips into his. Twoface responded by kissing back even harder as he roughly grabbed the sides of your head to bring you in closer.

He made sure that the kisses happened for as long as possible.

It soon got to the point were he would move away from your lips ,for your neck, and then move back to your lips again.

Once he was satisfied with all the hickeys he had given you, he pulled away slowly, leaving a taste of blood and copper on your lips.

He was able to quickly compose himself before going to the last part in his little "game".

Getting off your lap, Twoface reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny metal coin.

" You should know that this last little part of my game darling, is a game I like to call Heads or Tails."

Your heart sank into your chest. You had a feeling that you knew exactly where this was going.

"Here is how this is going to work. If The coin lands on the clean side, then I'll let your so-called friend go. If lands on the scratched side, then I pump them full of lead."

"W-wha-"

Before you could get a word in, he threw the coin into the air. As it gently fell back into his palm, he slapped the coin onto his other hand and reviled it to be . . .

Scratched.

Ignoring all of your begging and pleading, Twoface immediately pulled the pistol back out from its holster, and headed towards his hostage.

Ripping the gag off their mouth, you could hear small relived breaths.

Tears started to stream from your eyes as you kept on pleading to no avail. You then watched Twoface raise the gun to their forehead.

Then . . .

The sound of a gunshot fires.

You just sat there in shock. You tried to speak, but no words seemed to come out.

Harvey had now taken over as the two of them walked back over to you.

Sitting back onto your lap, he placked his head comfortably onto your shoulder.

You wanted to yell at him. Punch him. Kick him. Run away. But for some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to do it.

"Please don't be sad love." Harvey lovingly whispered into your ear. "We just couldn't take it anymore."

Sitting back upright, Harvey gently wiped the tear that had trickled down your face.

" Their not in the way anymore s-so just. . . " His voice now sounded desperate. "Please say that you'll stay with us. . . We love you so so much, darling. "

[morgansunflower]

I Never Wanted To Hurt You

Warnings:suggestive content, explicit language and angst.

Words:1225

Bruce Wayne X Wife! Lantern! Reader

Damian Wayne X Batmom

Little Robin has a broken wing after his loving parents separated.

Arthur's notes! This is similar to my other works in the fact she left him because Nightwing aka their son faked his death... Truth be told its a reason that seems fitting for Batmom to leave him. So LOTS of angst. Hope you all enjoy!

"shh Stephanie sweetheart, what's wrong?" I asked my crying little girl who was on the phone with me.

-"it-it's Damian!" Stephanie exclaimed her throat shaking

"Steph what--"

-"he ran away from home we've been searching for him, for 34 hours! It's not like him, ok maybe a little but I'm really worried Mom"

"ok honey everything is OK deep breaths. I'm going to go search for him right now, ok?"

I put on my lantern uniform and rush to Gotham. I use my ring to search for Damian. I searched the entire night and day. So much time had went by.. He was no where to be found. I went back to my apartment at the middle of the night. I make a pot of tea. I close my eyes and imagine Bruce's lips touching my own. My heart aching to know if Damian is OK... If he's hurt. I hear a breath that wasn't my own. I swiftly threw the batarang into the door-frame to threaten whomever was lurking there.

"tt you have horrible aim" Damian insulted coming forward from the shadow

My heart leaps "Damian!" I quickly rush to my little boy "are you hurt? What are you doing here? We've been searching for you for hours! How did you even get in here?!"

I kneel down to him, so I can inspect for any injuries. Though there were none to be seen. Good now I can take a deep breath. He folds his arms with a angered look at me. I hold his little arms. I sometimes forget how small he really is.

"what's wrong?" I asked as softly as possible "why did you run away son?"

"tt.. If the reason you left us is do to my actions.. "

I was utterly shocked, heartbroken that he thought that "Damian Wayne!!" I rub his head "Damian.. Honey.. absolutely not young man. I--Your father and I are just going through a rough span of time..."

"why?" he ordered to know with his father's grunt.

I hold his deeply distressed face in my hands "Damian I love you, you're my son and I love your dad. I just...I don't like it, when he keeps secrets from me"

"Grayson?"

I take a shaky breath worried for my oldest son, and even worried for Damian's mentality. Bruce had kept the fact that our son was dead away from me. When I found out, I was so heartbroken that I had to leave.

"yes.. You know it's really late. Why don't you join me for a hot cup of tea? Then if you want to, you can stay the night with me"

"perhaps I could accompany you.. though only for your protection of course"

"I would be honored to have you as my trusted bodyguard" I smiled.

He gently smiled back. We, both step into the kitchen. I grab two coffee mugs from the cupboard and place them on the counter. I wasn't going to force Damian to tell me why he's really here. A part of me wonders if he misses me. We didn't always get along.. I never treated him less than any of his other siblings. I can't help but worry something is really wrong. I step into the kitchen and I start the tea.. I start to miss Bruce. It's in a moment like this he would crease my face and hold me. I could almost feel his strong and safe embrace in my mind. It hurts to know he can't, it hurts more that he lied to me. I feel Damian touch my hand. I look down to him. He sadly smiled and held my hand. I gently rub his head. We stayed quiet as he tried to comfort me. Moment's later Dami and I sat in my room on the bed. We held our cups of tea. He had his legs crossed on the bed and I laid on my side. My little boy took a sip of his tea. I can see, his face fall in great distress.

"what's wrong Dami?" I softly asked "can you please tell me what is really bothering you?"

His eyes began to shake, he looks away from me placing his cup on the nightstand. He then covers his face in complete disparity shaking his head.

"it-it's.." tears fall down his face. "my fault"

My heart physically heavies in empathy "oh of course it isn't. C'mere sweetheart" I cooed.

I take my own cup putting it on my nightstand. I hold my little boy in my arms. He lays his head on my shoulder holding onto me.

"I--I thought you hated me.. Father's been in turmoil, I miss how things used to be..I can't sl-sleep" he then began to cry, that's when I realized he's been having nightmares.. Again. "I want you both to love each other again"

"shhh.. Shhh. I'm so sorry Dami" I softly said my heart breaking further. "it's not your fault, nothing is your fault. I still love your Dad and I will always love you. It's gonna be OK. I promise"

Damian held onto me tightly. Not the Wayne I wanted to originally have with me but for a night to be a mother.. It's pleasant enough. I feel Damian's Heartbeat rapidly beating. My heart breaks. I text my husband that Damian is with me. I waited.. He responds

(Bruce) -I envy him. How are you? Is Damian OK?-

-I'm fine... However I can't say the same for our little boy. Did you know he's been having nightmares? -

(Bruce) - no I did not. It's best he's with you-

I ask Bruce to come. I am so mad at him. Though Damian needs to feel whole. He needs to be reminded that we still love him and each other. The window opens and then shuts. I look seeing my husband wearing his Batman uniform. Damian swiftly turned his head to see who was in the room. I hold his arms to comfort the frightened boy.

"shh it's alright son, it's me" Bruce cooed to the 8 year old, with his arms in cautioned manner.

Damian lays back down laying his back up against me and holds my hand. Bruce takes his cowl off. He lifts the covers over Damian and I, while he laid under the covers with us. Damian began to pull Bruce closer to us. Bruce kisses his head. He hesitantly moved his large arm under us and held us both closer. He always did that whenever the children had nightmares. Bruce closes his eyes taking a deep breath. I had my head rested on his shoulder. My heart was beating rapidly. Damian drifted off to sleep in our arms. I close my eyes unable to look at Bruce.

"I don't expect you to forgive me... I never wanted to hurt you. It was all my fault.. The further Grayson was the safer he'd be... I was trying to do what was right but I was wrong to do that to you.. To our family" my throat began to shake as I look at his shameful expression. His eyes were narrowed in disparity and face fallen in heartache. Bruce sounded so raw with emotion, so heartbroken over a fight between us "I'll wait for you, for as long as I have to"

Requested taglist @too-strong-to-lose

[redacteds-works]

Nightcrow Drabble (On the way to Arkham)

"There's nothing I can say to you that we haven't said before, y'know." Dick glanced from the endless road ahead to Jonathan beside him. They'd taken his mask, and scythe, and a few other things, leaving him in the barest bones of his outfit, descarecrowing the scarecrow.

"What are we supposed to say when everything we've ever done has been to help you and yet we still have this same dance every time?" The hero continued, typical smile gone, replaced by worried lines and frowning lips.

Jonathan didn't even bother shooting him a glance. The silence cutback by the never ending Gotham rain pelting the windshield, the wipers glinding against the glass. The radio was turned down to a whisper, near silent in the heavy rain.

"I, We just want to help you. I always hoped we could at least save you, you don't want this, this can't possibly be a life.." Dick pressed further, gesturing with one hand emphasis while the other held the wheel.

They were going slow thanks to the slick roads, elongating the already ridiculous drive.

Again, Jonathan said nothing. Cuffs holding him to his chair jingled lightly as he shifted to press his head against the window. Blood dribbled from his nose, mostly slowed but not stopping. His hair was soaked, dripping down his slim frame. Small shivers racked his frame.

"Can you at least tell me why you don't want to be better?" He felt defeated, at this point, shifting back into his chair. Jonathan scoffed beside him.

"You think I want to be this way?" Jonathan borderline growled out, he could hear the man speaking between clenched teeth.

"From here? It's pretty easy to feel that way. I'm torn between believing everyone wants to be better, and seeing all of you fight to stay the way you are." Fingers gripped the wheel tighter, fidgeting with it.

"No, Nightwing I don't want to be this way. I dont fucking choose to enjoy watching you writhe in fear, but I do-" Dick went to cut him off, but Jonathan spoke over him, "-if it were that easy, to just stop, I would. But I can't. It's what I am."

"But it doesn't have to be!" Dick stressed, "We want you to get better, we'd support you!"

Jonathan finally turned to him, meeting his glance. He looked worse than before, a cut he hadn't noticed drooling blood down his temple.

He needed to fix that before they got to Arkham.

"Hold on, you've got another cut I need to.." He pulled the car over along the stretch of road, turning on the car's hazard lights before grabbing the first aid kit, twisting to sit facing Jon.

He reached to touch the doctors face, but before he could-

"What the fuck do you think youre doing?" Jonathan snaped, pulling away from the encroaching hand.

"Checking how big the gash is? What's your problem?" Dick pulled away himself, leaning against the door of the car.

"Put on gloves." He glared at the blue latex in the first aid kit.

"I already have on gloves, professor," he wiggled neon blue fingers in front of Jonathan's face tauntingly.

"No, you need latex. What if I had HIV?" Jonathan eyed said neon gloves, a hint of disdain behind those eyes.

"You.. don't have HIV." He was mostly sure of that. Most of their rouges told them when they had any blood disease, the ones that didn't want them to die anyways. Like the time Oswald suspected he was exposed to TB. They got a <em>letter</em> to the GCPD addressed to 'The Bat, and the family he surrounds himself with' in a fancy script.

"And you know that how?" A raise of the eyebrows. The only illusion to his emotions the whole night, ofcourse it was mockingly.

"Arkham tests your blood upon admittance." He smirked at the villain, sadness practically forgotten at this point.

"Nightwing, dear hero, when's the last time I was in Arkham?" Though he didn't smirk back, his tone was just as cocky.

"Right."

"Right, right, Nightwing. Gloves." He gestured to the latex.

With his gloves on he slowly dabbed at the blood with gauze, gaining confidence with each stroke until the remaining blood was merely a stain against Jonathan's skin. Then he grabbed an alcohol pad, whipping around the wound as close as he could without touching it, before grabbing two butterfly bandaids and closing the sizable gash as much as he could.

Then he ran an alcohol pad against everything again, including the remnants of the nose bleed he'd had earlier. He felt the skin under his fingers warming throughout the process.

With decision making so rapid it'd make his father proud, he planted a kiss to the bandaids before Jonathan could even react. It earned him a soft gasp. Maybe Dick did have a personal investment in wanting so desperately for Jonathan's recovery.

But neither of them were ready for that conversation yet.

Neither of them spoke the rest of the ride to Arkham.

[glorified-red]

Could I request hcs for subtle ways the boys express their protectiveness?

Thank you for the request my love! I got to play a fun little game of ‘Eenie Meenie Miney Mo’ for which request to do.

Protective BatBoys

word count: 1600~

warnings: insinuation of someone getting hit by a car, mentions of attackers

I was quite tempted to write Bruce headcanons to this but I must hold back ><

Dick Grayson

Ah, Dick Grayson, the King of small romantic protective gestures

Every time, without fail, Dick will wait until he watches you get inside your house safely before driving/walking away

Its a really cute tick of his because he covers it up with a goodbye kiss and goofy waves that leave you giggling even after you close your house door

But its so he knows where you are, and he can see for himself that you made it safely inside because the second he turns away too soon, you may get locked out, or someone can crawl out from the bushes and nab you

Paranoid, he knows

He constantly wraps you up in things, when you two go swimming he’ll patter up from behind you and place a towel around your shoulders, patting you dry along the way

Very insignificant gesture but he doesn't want you to catch a cold in the A/C or Gotham wind

He’ll do the same with his jackets, maybe even plop his hat on your head when it's gets to the snowy seasons 1. Because its adorable seeing the hat fall into your eyes and 2. Because it'll warm your head up

Scarves too, he’ll even go on a tangent about how cold it is outside while he wraps you in it

Dick will always offer to drive you places, even if you insist on driving yourself to meet up with him or walking there, Dick will still offer because it means he’ll be present if you get into a wreck, sucks but then he can help with first aid

If you decline his offer though, he’ll politely ask for you to take Titus or Ace with you whenever you walk somewhere, they’re trained and he trusts them to keep you company/safe when he can't 

Jason Todd

Jason’s protectiveness comes from a place of knowing how cruel the world actually is

He can't stand the idea of anything happening to you

If he has to, he will use his reputation of Red Hood as a way to keep you safe, putting a man at gun point and sneering out, “They’re off. Limits.”

He’d bust a whole trafficking ring if it meant ending a person who touched you or hurt you in any way

But Jason’s protectiveness doesn't stop while he's wearing the helmet

Even when you two are sleeping, Jasons unconsciously protecting you, no matter how you two cuddle, Jason always positions himself as closest to the bedroom door

Whether his back is to the door or he’s facing it, Jason needs the comfort of knowing any person coming into the room would have to get through him before even reaching you

He also envelopes you, he's a big guy so its pretty easy for him to wrap you up in his arms as an extra layer of protection from the outside world

Jason doesn't really like the idea of training you past basic combat or gun skills, hell, he doesn't like involving you in the family business if he doesn't have to

So he inserts himself into any situation you may need protection in

Which is exactly why he starts going to the gym with you as a work out buddy

Jason makes it sound like he just wants to spend time with you or help you achieve your goals faster since he knows how the body works from his Robin days

But deep down you both know his true intentions: he wants to keep an eye on you

The gym is crawling with creeps that have the guts to ogle at you or get too touchy, but having Jason’s 6 foot beefcake of an ass standing beside you the entire time is like an instant creep repellent

Plus, he gets to spot you and make sure you don't get injured from bad technique or from pushing yourself too hard

He’ll even encourage you with innuendos the entire time, but at the end of the day, he’ll gladly walk you home

Tim Drake

Tim is the most subtle about his inner protectiveness, a subtle King if you will

Most times when he gets protective, you never even notice

When you two cuddle in your house, it takes him a very long time to actively fall asleep because he doesn't trust your home security system if you even have one so he forces himself to stay awake just incase anything happens

But don't worry, he’ll eventually get to updating the security in your house

He does get these protective eyes whenever something is off when he's around you, they narrow a bit and latch onto whatever is off, glaring holes into the offending object until its all clear

Its quite terrifying to witness and very hard to miss when Tim is staring dead at the man speaking to you from across the room at a Gala, sipping his drink in the corner

If he feels the need, he will walk up and control the situation, whether it mean inserting himself into the convo or simply being present for it, he’ll do it

The thing with Tim though, is when he's protective, he’s almost always touching you in some way

His fingers playing idly with the ends of your hair as he speaks to a random person who walked up to you, clinging to your shirt/sleeves when he’s analyzing a situation and doesn't want you to go forward just yet, or even as simple as holding your hand as he leads you home

Tim also keeps small snacks/waters on hand at all times to protect you from Gotham heat and pesky hunger, very much like a mother hen because he also carries a first aid kit everywhere

He follows you whenever you walk alone around Gotham at night, he’s already on patrol so he might as well make sure you make it home safe, if anything happens he won't think twice about intervening as RR

If your going out somewhere alone he always always always asks you to call him until you make it to your destination, he doesn't care if he's working on something or in the middle of a board meeting, he has an assistant for a reason who can give him notes

Its become a normal thing for you to send him your Uber tracking link so he can watch it, if you don't send it he won't hesitate to hack into your account just to find it

Damian Wayne

Damian? Wayne? Being subtle?

Its usually pretty obvious when Damian gets protective over you

He’s the type who won't hesitate to pull out a knife out of god knows where and threaten whatever is responsible for you being uncomfortable

This leads to very interesting encounters of you having to hold him back because ‘oh no a random guy bumped into you and didn't apologize’ and suddenly Damian is missing 

He’s also incredibly blunt, saying things like “Cover your drink” at galas or handing you one of those hand held tasers before you go out and saying “Go for the neck”

Will insist on training you himself, whether its hand-to-hand combat or with a sword, Damian wants to keep track of your progress himself so he can make sure all your weaknesses are trained

Its also because he doesn't want his grimy brothers near you, so its protective on all counts

But subtlety? Theres a few you can notice after being with him for awhile

He’s very careful when going out around Gotham with you, Damian knows he can fend for himself so he will gladly take the brunt of any possible situation

This leads to him always walking on whichever side of you thats closest to the road, so on the off chance a car derails, he’ll get hit first

Always making sure to match your pace when you two walk together, he doesn't want you getting too far ahead of him because he'd have to run to get to you, too far behind and he might not notice you getting taken silently, he wants you right in arms reach at all times

He has a permanent scowl and narrowed eyes but when he's protective, they get even more prominent

Bonus

All the BatBoys do the same exact thing out of instinct when it comes to protecting you

None of them will hesitate to step in between you and any attacker, pulling you behind them so they are in the line of fire now

Its a subtle action that each of them do, albeit with some differences

Damian will push the attacker back as far as he can from you, putting plenty of distance between the two of them and you, so if anything breaks out, you can run away easily

Dick will hold his arms out, fully covering you but keeping his hands in the fray so if the attacker tries attacking you from any angle, Dick is ready to protect

Tim will grip onto you somehow, keeping his hand right on your bicep or forearm so he can still hold you, he doesn't know if there can be a hidden attacker from behind that will pry you away from him, so touching you is his way of making sure he doesn't lose track of you

Jason will slip in front of you and cross his arms, its a sign of nonchalance but obvious dominance, showcasing that he doesn't need his hands to be intimidating to the attacker, he’ll glare and challenge them so all attention is on him now and not you

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@bungunz

@red-hood-redemption​

[jd-loves-fiction]

➤ Jason Todd x Reader

➤ Warnings: gun kink, unprotected sex [don’t be silly, wrap the willy ;)]

➤ @catxsnow @internalsealpanic​ @littleredwing89

[22:50] Your lungs burn as you leapt from one building to another, begging you to slow down at once. 

No chance of that, not with the sound of heavy footsteps thundering behind you as a grunt is heard after the man chasing you lands. 

So you keep running, despite the tightness of your chest, the soreness of your feet and burning in your muscles. 

But somewhere deep inside, something urges you to stop. Something more abstract than the discomfort you feel.

"Come on, princess. Stop and let's talk this out!"

"No way in hell, you glorified eyesore!" You yell back, jumping yet another gap between buildings almost perfectly. 

Almost.

You misjudge the distance and are unable to stick the landing, rolling across the roof until you stop on your back. You don't move, already hearing how his footsteps become slower. He approaches your defeated form, panting as your ankle throbs slightly. You know you can't run anymore at this point, so why tire yourself out.

Red Hood steps over you, placing his boots on your spread arms, barely applying any pressure, just enough to send a message. 

You can hear his heave, distorted, and you imagine him to be sweating bullets under his helmet, while you cool off with the cold, humid air of late night Gotham.

"Did you need to do all that? I just wanted to talk." Red hood protests, exasperated and still panting as you do the same with a skeptical look. 

"Seems it was more your gun wanting to do the talking." You bite back, feeling small under his gaze, so far up from you, but refusing to show it. 

You can almost see his red helmet contort into a frown as you both know what you said isn't true. He may threaten you but he'd never actually shoot you. No matter how much he tries to hide it, he enjoys this dynamic of yours. And so do you. 

The sexual tension, usually pointed out by others around you, could be cut with a meat cleaver. And it just keeps building. Every encounter or skirmish usually leaves you with sticky underwear and him with tighter pants. You excite him, keep him on his toes, and he does the same to you. 

Not to mention the more intimate moments you've shared. 

Walking the grey line of morality meant that your friends could be your enemies and vice versa. For you two, it meant that one day you could be bandaging each other up (still with the masks on) and the next day you could be the ones creating a need for the bandages. 

And that is fine. You both think it's fine.

Until the tension brewing comes to a head spills over from the cauldron. 

Red Hood takes his feet away from your biceps, stepping just below them to take the weight off and still keep close. He then takes his shinny, polished gun from its holster, not yet having been used on that night. 

His large thighs flex as he crouches over your chest, placing the gun under your chin as you stare into the white eyes of his hood, hoping to catch a glimpse of what's behind. 

"Well, if that's the only way I'll get you to talk." His deep voice, seemingly deepened by the voice modulator, rumbles through your chest as he speaks. 

"There are other ways…" You whisper suggestively, mask slits lowering as you smirk seductively. The complete switch from your feisty defiance to a velvety tone and alluring expression makes him pause. 

"Oh? And what would those be?" The gun feels cool against your skin as he presses it harder against you.

"You could start by taking off your helmet." You say confidently. And just like that, the gun's pressure leaves you as he pulls it away slightly. 

Red Hood sighs deeply, shoulders dropping, "You know I can't do that, princess." 

"Not for me?"

"Not for you, not for anyone I'm afraid."

"Won't even let me try to change your mind?" You purr. Your hands crawl up his tense legs, feeling the muscles quiver under your fingertips before they settle on his hips. 

"I can't promise you anything." His tone turns stern, almost cold, but his breathing wavers at the feeling of your warm hands on his cold body. 

"Then don't. Just let me do my thing and see how you feel afterwards." You suggest, nails scratching just above his belt. His hand flexes for a moment, contemplating, before he traces his gun down your throat and towards your warm chest. 

"Think you can change my mind, do you?" His free hand brushes your hair away from your face before he grabs your chin between his gloved fingers. "Let's see what you got."

You slip your legs out from under him, placing them around his waist and throwing him off balance to the side, following the momentum and sitting yourself over him. 

Red Hood's helmet hits the floor as he lets his head fall back. You lay your weight on his middle before gripping both his wrists while leaning closer to his face. 

"You sound quite cocky. Not much reason to, since you're the one on the ground while I could just get up and run. You'd be left all alone to take care of your little problem." You whisper while grinding your ass against said problem.

"True, but we both know you don't really want to. And it's not so little, princess." His voice is deep and raspy as you continue your hip movements, taking his gun out of his hand. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"Then you better start working, doll face."

You scoff at his tone before realizing the safety was off on the gun. "The safety was off?" You ask, shocked, as you turn it on, placing it by your side. 

"Sorry, forgot about it. Had more interesting things to think about." His hands reach for you before you grab them, pinning them beside his head.

"You forgot about it? Not very professional of you, considering your impulses." Your chest meets his as you lean heavily on his wrists. You both know your hold on them means close to nothing and that he could easily get out of it, but he'd allow it if it meant having fun.

"Not the impulses you should be focusing on, sweetheart." His legs bend, urging you forward and making his crotch grind against yours.

“Ooh, I’m so scared of a man whose face I can’t even see. Not to mention the fact that you clearly have a very soft spot for me, sweetheart.” You tease, grinding your hips down firmly, reveling in the deep grunt that makes him chest vibrate against yours.

Red Hood lets out a slow breath, body relaxing completely as he stays silent, “Yeah, you’re right.” he finally says, quietly, absentmindedly. You stare deep into the whites of his mask as he stays tight-lipped and seemingly contemplating something. 

"Can I trust you? Completely?" He asks before you hum, taking your hands away and sitting up. You ignore his boner poking your ass.

"Yes, of course you can." Your expression turns soft and serious as you speak. You hope he can hear your honesty more than see it through the mask. 

He nods before reaching for his helmet, "Wait!" You exclaim as your hands stop him. "What are you doing?!"

"Listen, princess. I want this and I trust you. So I'm acting on all this fucking tension because honestly, I can't wait anymore." And so you let him reach for the back of his helmet, clicking it open with a hiss, before he takes it off and you're baffled by the image before you.

His hair is short and black with a white streak, just as messy and sweaty as you expected. His eyes are a startling, pale green, and they watch your reaction for a moment before his cheeks darken. There's the beginning of dark stubble on his jaw and chin. Even the small scars all across his face, from his cheek to the bridge of his nose, add to his rugged handsomeness that nothing your mind has ever conjured up could compare to. 

"Don't comment too much. We can leave the soft stuff for another time. Right now, I just need to be inside you." The heated look in his striking eyes makes your breath stutter, along with his words. Before you smile cheekily while trailing your nails down his hard abs. 

"'Leave the soft stuff for another time?' That better mean you'll be taking me out on a date, or I'm not having it." You tease, winking at him as he smiles fondly. You take off your mask and place it by his helmet, ego massively boosted by the immensely flustered look on his face as yours is revealed. 

"Do comment all you like. And you can call me Y/N." You whisper into the night, lips a breath away from his. 

"Jason. Nice to meet you, finally."

His soft lips crash against yours as months of tension come to a head while teeth scrape and tongues battle for dominance. You lose it and let Jason suck on your tongue as you rush to unbuckle his pants after raising his shirt slightly.

You feel his hands grip your waist tightly, meaning to flip you under him, before you hold him back by placing your hands on his, "Let me ride you, please." 

"Ah fuck, doll face." Jason's voice wavers as you reach past his boxers to grab his hot member in your cold hand. Your hand moves up and down, feeling him harden fully in your palm as your forehead rests against his. 

Your lips suck on his pulse while your other hand brushes a long scar in the middle of his torso, that you refuse to comment on. 

"Princess, you better stop or I'm gonna cum. And I just wanna do it inside you." He grunts, tugging at your pants while holding your wrist to slow you down.

You take your pants off, thankful for the roof's tall walls and the fact that, for once, it isn't raining like hell. The stone digs into your knees as you settle over him once again. 

"You ready?" Jason asks as you move his cock through your folds. You're not sure of the answer. He looks too girthy for you to take without prep painlessly. But with the burning ache on your core begging to feel him inside, your patience is quickly running out, so you're sure going to try.

You sink down instead of answering, slipping only the head of his cock inside you, making his eyes widen and nearly roll back at the unexpected pleasure, before they close tightly as he struggles to hold his own hips down as you adjust.

"Ah! Doll…" He sighs, hips twitching as they try to raise against the weight of you. You hold yourself up on his stomach as your walls are stretched to their limit, trying not to impale yourself too quickly.

You breathe hard and deep as you move down, the base being thicker makes it harder and not painful, but it's worth it for Jason's face as you finally descend all the way until your hips meet his and he gasps before moaning loudly and deeply. His cheeks become even redder than before, looking to the side at his loud noise.

You lean towards his ear to whisper, moving him inside you slightly which makes him groan again, "Be as loud as you like, nobody can hear you. Plus, not sure anybody cares."

“Fuck, princess, please tell me I can move. I just wanna fuck this pussy so bad.” Jason says, hands holding onto your hips. You nod desperately, already half gone with the feeling of his hard cock fully inside, raising yourself with a whimper and dropping again.

“Shit, doll!” He exclaims, hands helping you move as his hips raise while you drop, his tip hitting you impossibly deep as a layer of sweat starts to form on both of your foreheads, hair sticking to the skin.

“Ah, Jason.” You whimper, grounding your clit against his pelvis at the bottom.

“You feel so good, doll. So warm and wet, fuck…” He sighs, hand grasping your hair and pulling your lips against his as you set a hard and fast pace. 

Your lips barely connect for more than a few moments, kisses interrupted by moans and whimpers as you breathe against each other's mouths. 

Your toes begin to curl as sparks of pleasure travel all over your flushed body, breathing heavy as your heart pounds against your chest. Your body jerks as Jason’s rough and calloused finger starts rubbing firm circles on your clit.

“You close, sweetheart? You gonna cum all over my cock? Clench even tighter, shit!” He sighs, followed by a groan as you do clench tighter around him at his dirty words while the pleasure builds.

“Jason, please! I’m so close.” You moan desperately, muscles twitching as you allow Jason to do the most work with his powerful thrusts and rough fingers.

Your back arches as you finally reach that peak, shivering, nails digging into his stomach as you let him thrust into your pussy until he lets out a grunt once he reaches his orgasm, warm filling you as his cum drips out of you and down your thighs.

You open your eyes, gazing up into the dark sky, catching your breath before looking down. Jason lays back, sighing as the aftershocks of his high wears off slowly, leaving him sated and tired, pent up tension finally released.

You lean forward, ignoring the way your pussy twitches as he nudges the inside, and placing a kiss to his red cheek and smiling at his hazy, faraway gaze.

“So, about that date, you free on Friday?”

[engagemachine]

Hey ☺️ I'm just sitting in my room thinking about zombie! AU to Burn and like, wowza. The Joker would be on a hunt for Batman, knowing the rich and corrupted of Gotham are burrowed away to safety, I can imagine the Joker would want to draw the Bat out, the Joker knowing full well that Bruce Wayne wouldn't be able to do the cowardly thing and hide out like the other elites. Batman would put on the cape and try to save any survivors he could, and the Joker would be trying so desperately to maintain their dynamic in the midst of it all since it's all he has and it's his biggest purpose. Meanwhile his second biggest obsession, at least I'd hazard that she is, Taylor, would be by his side and terrified. She would know that if anything happened to Mr. J and Ressling she would be Royally Screwed. The Joker would do what he could to keep her safe and alive, making her wear a big ugly denim coat so bites won't go through just in case. She would be tucked as small as possible in the backseat, all scrunched up on the floor while they drive along, and she would pass time by sketching and trying not to think about what might happen next. Her hair would be kept up in a messy bun almost always because she has this fear of an undead monster grabbing her by her hair and yanking her away (even though she's constantly sandwiches between the two men when they're walking for obvious reasons). I imagine she would adapt surprisingly well, simply being used to trauma and uncertainty when it comes to her safety just in every day life. Ressling and The Joker would have to sleep in shifts and they'd have to be careful risking fires to cook too often. One night Taylor might wake up, startled by something she can't explain, lifts her head up from Mr. J's lap and instead of being asleep leaned up on the window like she thought he was he's just staring down at her, eyes black. He shushes her and tells her to go back to sleep, and Ressling would turn the radio on softly to drown out the screams in the distance, mostly for Taylor's sake. They'd eat canned foodsnand sleep in the car, parked deep in the forest so theyre hidden as possible. They would see horrible things like bodies eaten away laying out on the roads, the Joker might chuckle at a couple of them and Ressling would be unfazed, and Taylor would be having to try and hide PTSD attacks because she would just see Anders cut up all over again. She might even have to close her eyes sometimes. Anyways sorry for going on I'm smoking weed and that's prolly making me ramble lmbo

"I'm smoking weed and that's prolly making me ramble"

anon, I love you so much for this. omg.

Also, like, the fact that you would get high and then choose to think about Burn? Specifically your Zombie AU? And then headcanon about my characters???? you are the real MVP. that's so sexy of you.

anyway, UGH, this AU haunts me!!! I love the images you described. And, my gosh, that bit about how she wakes up in Mr. J's lap (and not leaning up against the window like she had thought... boi!!!!) and he's just. staring at her. Maybe pets her hair before telling her to go back to sleep. But she can't, she can't, she's scared because she can hear them. And Ressling, in the front seat, watching the exchange from the rearview mirror, knows that that's his cue to turn up the radio (they listen to the same five CDs on rotation, because obviously there is no radio to listen to anymore, it's all just static).

And how they'd live out of the car most days, but then occasionally they stumble onto an abandoned safehouse, and for Taylor's sake, they make it "home" for a little while. It's not safe to stay in one place for too long, so Taylor knows she shouldn't get attached, but she still cries every time they have to get back in the truck and leave. Sometimes she's especially stubborn and refuses to get in. The last house was like that. It was a cottage in the woods--fairly well-kept, somehow, despite everything--and it even had running water still, from a well somewhere on the property.

They hunker down there for three weeks, which is the longest they've ever stayed anywhere in one place. It starts to feel like... almost like home to her, and she puts her little touches everywhere. There are flowers growing in the backyard--weeds, really--but she collects them and finds a vase under the sink, arranges the flowers just so and puts them on the kitchen table. She picks up all the overturned furniture and rearranges it in the way she imagines how it used to be, before the outbreak. Tries to imagine what the family who had lived here before might've been like. There's some old clothes in the closet in the single bedroom, and when she's alone she goes in there and presses her face into them, trying to smell.... sometimes she thinks she catches a lingering scent. It's been a long time since she's seen another human who isn't Mr. J and Ressling. A really, really long time. For some reason, one of the things she misses about people most of all is their unique scent. What a weird thing to miss.

She sleeps in the single bedroom with Mr. J, and Ressling sleeps on the couch. That's how it always is. And when she's not tidying up the cottage, she's carefully rationing out their food, or searching for more. Most of the kitchen shelves and the pantry have been ransacked, but she miraculously finds a can of unopened corn, and it's like finding a precious diamond.

She surprises them with it at dinnertime, hot and piping corn--so yellow, she forgot food could be so bright--and it's the best thing she's eaten in months. She's careful to divvy out their portions, making sure they all get an even amount--although, if she's honest, she always gives a little extra to Mr. J.

She had loved that cottage. She'd wanted to stay forever. She could picture the three of them living there, making a life for themselves, living off the land... what else was there?

But Mr. J told her they had to go, and Taylor stomped her foot and told him no and threw what might've been her biggest hissy fit ever. She actually clung to the porch rail while Ressling packed up the truck, and when Mr. J threatened to leave her there to fend off the zombies all by herself, already turning his back to her, Ressling was the one who had to carry her instead--kicking and screaming--back to the truck.

[justasimplesinner]

Ok first of fucking all I love the way you write, it's really hard to find a writer who can make a character or topic im not particularly interested in actually worth reading. Fucking spot on my guy 👌. Secondly, I was wondering if you'd be up for a request with Mof Johnathan and Arkham Eddie? If you could write a scenario were he's sitting down at his workspaces or couch working on something villain related and they feel a full blown breakdown coming on. Like they're really fucking stressed for whatever reason (take your pick) and the fact that they can't even focus on their own work is making it worse. Their s/o walks in and all it takes is a glance in his direction to figure out they've stumbled upon a ticking time bomb. So, as a spur of the moment attempt to distract him, they plop themselves into his lap and start whispering sweet nothings and praise while they stroke his hair (your choice whether it gets saucy from there or not). I'm a soft bitch and I need you to quench my thirst for hurt/comfort fics.

nothings better than making grown men break down. also, despite being short, this took so god damn long, i swear. but writing eddies pov is just so enjoyable, thats rewarding enough. he's such a stupid fuck its adorable

Masters of Fear!Jon getting comforted hcs:

It didn't feel right. At all. Nothing felt right. Everything was wrong. Every scratch of his pen on the paper felt like nails on a blackboard and his ears were ringing. His hands were shaking and instead of words, there were just crooked lines, like a hand-written ECG record. Every little sound from outside made him jump, every little drop of rain falling onto the window felt like a small bomb going off right besides his ear.

Ever since he woke up today, everything felt so wrong. You weren't in bed when he woke up, your side already cold because you left for work. Because he slept in and couldn't even say goodmorning to you. Or goodbye. And if something happened to you? It was Gotham, everything could happen to you. And he didn't even get the chance to see you, talk to you, kiss you. And the scrambled eggs he reluctantly made for breakfast almost made him vomit. He didn't eat them. Actually, he hadn't ate at all. Nothing. Not a crumb. It made him sick.

It's like he felt something coming, but he had no idea what. Like a storm, like danger. The feeling you get when you're being watched. The feeling he always got when he heard those specific footsteps in school hallways. Very specific. Measured, every move thought out - the trait of a sportsman. But heavy. Not clicking on the floor, but thumping. Very loud and very obvious. The footsteps that made him freeze in place because even if he tried, he wouldn't outrun them. They would follow. The pain would follow. Thump, thump, thump on the floor, foretelling nothing good, right around the corner, right... behind him!

He jumped up high in his seat, whipping his head around, eyes trying to scan the room but it all felt foggy. The only clear thing was the loud crack of the pen breaking in his clenched hand. And the first thing he saw was a hand, reaching out for him, maybe for his throat, maybe to thrash him around - he didn't know, but it was too close.

– Jon? – it was like something snapped in him when it was your voice that rang in his ears and his breathing stilled when he realized you were lightly rubbing your right hand. Did he hurt you? He wanted to ask, he needed to know if he hurt you, if he fucked up again but when his eyes finally looked up into yours, he couldn't say anything. 

The best thing was, he didn't even need to. It's like you already knew. Like he didn't have to do anything and you just saw it. Knew it. Sensed it. And when you got closer this time, he didn't push you away. There was no pain. No pain when your brows furrowed in genuine concern. No pain when your hands cupped his face to look him in the eyes. No pain when you slowly lowered yourself onto his lap. You never brought pain.

– Oh, baby... – your tone was condescending in the best of ways, and your fingers glided up into his hair so gently, nails scratching softly at his scalp, and it's as if his eyes shut on their own accord as he curled into you, wrapping his arms tight around your torso to press you closer. Keep you there, in that exact spot. So that you would never leave.

– I'm sorry I hurt you. – he practically cried into your neck, pressing his face hard into your skin to remind himself that you were there for him. He had you right in his lap, and yet he had to fucking remind himself still. Why was he so fucked up? You didn't have to put up with this. You didn't have to care. He wasn't your responsibility, he was nothing. And yet...

– You could never. It's fine.

You hugged him tight, one hand combing through his messy hair, tangled from him pulling on it, and the other one tracing up and down his back, making up shapes as it went. There were spirals, zig zags, waves, straight lines - he focused strictly on the feeling of your fingers, imagining every little shape they drew.

He kind of wished his shirt was off. So that he could actually feel you on his skin.

– I'm sorry. – and he was, because you just came back from work, probably exhausted, and now you had to baby him since he couldn't even fucking take care of himself. Why was he like this?

– Don't. You don't have to be sorry for feeling something. It's what humans do.

How did you always know what to say? How did you always know what to do? What has he ever done to deserve even an ounce of what you gave him? Did it matter? He was so fucking glad you were back home.

Arkham!Eddie getting comforted hcs:

Mistake. One after another. Each one followed by the next, like a chain reaction. The only thing he fucking did today was mistakes. All the measurements were wrong. All his coding was wrong. Every single little thing was at least a little bit off. He didn't accept 'a little bit off'. It was either perfect, or it was nothing to him. He was nothing. Nothing but a fucking failure, constantly fucking things up, unable to perform even the simplest tasks. Every last idiot could programm a computer. And he wasn't an idiot. Or was he?

A groan ripped from his throat, the hand in his hair tightening.

If he wasn't an idiot, why couldn't he get anything done? If he wasn't an idiot, why did Batman, of all people, outsmart him? If he wasn't an idiot, why hasn't he won yet?

It's like his body wasn't his own when he let out a pathetically high-pitched growl and his arm instinctively threw the first thing it gripped at a wall. The coffee cup smashed into little pieces upon the impact, coffee splashing everywhere, blemishing everything. You brought him this cup. And the one before that. You put it there. You did yet another thing he hasn't asked of you. Why couldn't you just listen for once? Stop disturbing him? It was all your failt that he couldn't focus, because you were constantly going in and out of his workshop and he clearly told you to stay away.

Oh, speak of the fucking devil, he could already hear your thumping footsteps nearing the door, probably lured in by the sound of his cup shattering. Because you were 'worried', as if he would be stupid enough to injure himself or do anything reckless! He furiously pushed some old scraps of metal to the floor, making them clink loudly, feeling a slight sting on his forearm. Great, now he fucking cut himself because of you-

– Eddie, baby? You alright? – the sound of your gentle voice echoed in the room, overpowering the earlier noise. He didn't even grace that with a response, just sighed heavily, annoyance seeping out of him, as he leaned his head on his palm. Why did you have to ruin everything?

And then, just to spite him, you moved closer. Close enough for your sweet scent to fill his lungs, your fingers dancing over his shoulder and he almost shook them off. Instead, he abruptly leaned back in his chair, gritting his teeth. You wasted your chance to get out of here without a scratch.

What he didn't expect however, was your legs slowly, yet suddenly straddling him, hands on his shoulders, digging in lightly to massage and manipulate them into whatever it was you wanted. He felt his stomach churn, his blood boiling to the point where he felt hot all over and his hands almost, almost shot out in your direction. To push you off.

– If you haven't realised yet, I'm working. – it was a blatant lie and you knew it immediately. He wasn't working, not at all, only tinkering with things and fucking them up further. All because of you-

Your hands slowly travelled up, surprisingly careful not to tickle his neck, grabbing his face on both sides with that gentle, motherly fucking smile of yours. Like he was some child. Like you were trying to lure him in and... and... kiss his forhead, and... push your own against it, and- argh!

– Maybe take a little break, hm? – you muttered and he felt it more than heard it, your lips moving lightly against his skin, your nose soon nuzzling his long one and it's as if his head moved along on it's own accord.

This was such obvious manipulation-...!

– I don't need a break! I-...!

– I know you don't, Eddie. – you rudely cut him off, thumbs caressing his cheekbones – But I'm asking you nicely. I miss you.

Even if he protested, you wouldn't've let him go. It was obvious in the way your arms slid around his neck and shoulders, hugging him to your body, almost suffocating him in your chest and he just had to brace his hands on your back. And maybe he would've even pulled away, but you were so... warm. Soft. Like a pillow. And it made him snuggle in further.

– You're so clingy sometimes, you know that? – he muttered, his arms wrapping around you tighter, fingers hooking into your flesh and he felt your fingers slide into his hair, gently massaging his pounding scalp, making the ache almost instantly ease off slightly. His muslces started relaxing, too, his spine finally having a break from holding up his weight.

– You know you like it. – he clearly heard a chuckle in your voice, and it made his hand slide up to the back of your head to push you further into in, to quiet you, as his chin found it's place on your shoulder. Your nails dragged up and down his back, sneakily creeping under his clothes sometimes, and it made a violent but pleasant shiver run through his body, causing his arms to tighten around you.

Maybe he could take a break. You clearly needed him, it would be unwise to ignore you for too long. You could feel neglected, abandoned even - that could cause... problems. He didn't have the strength to deal with problems now. He could just indulge you for a little bit, no harm done. And so, his grip tightened, his body curling around you so every possible part of it was touching you.

You so obviously needed the comfort, and truly, he could never deny you.

[dindooku]

As a young student studying Criminology, Gotham was the perfect place to study the thoery of crime. But, that didnt come without it’s own risks. Without your intention, your life becomes intertwined with another’s; a life you had so vehemently tried to repress - and now it was within your grasp; the opportunity held upon a golden pedestal, just waiting for you to take it. In your own desperation to fend off the demons tormenting your soul, can you overcome the very thing your swore against? Or will you succumb to the darkness? When had being bad ever felt so good?

Rating: M/E (swearing, triggers, panic attack (not explicitly said) - alcohol abuse (OC isn’t an addict but doesn’t display healthy relationships with alcohol) - please read the tags. this fic is going to be very dark and twisted so please be warned in regards to further chapters

word count: ~5k

You needed this.

By fucking god you needed this.

You could blame it on your studies, your recent move to Gotham city to study your Masters in Criminology; the perfect setting really. And you could blame it on your stressful move; the house that you're renting not being anything like the photos you viewed online - the water-damaged walls and the odd-looking array of bullet holes in the front room, and maybe even the questionable red stain spotting along the cream-turned-brown carpet towards the bathroom.

But most of all it was this.

Moving to Gotham was the worst-best thing you have ever done. It'd do leaps and bounds for your research and personal evolution, but it was also becoming more and more apparent by the day as to why the little flat you lived in was so cheap; having an address with anything to do with Hell on it was probably a good indication.

Flat 221B, 36th, Hell's Kitchen, Gotham.

Yeah. That's why you fucking needed this.

It was an absolute shithole. You'd only been here for a week and you had experienced more crime than you had been privy to when studying at home. It was a catch 22, move to the most dangerous city you can think of and get 1-1 experience in crime, collecting data for your dissertation; or stay at home, go to a safe city and become some pansy police officer who refused to get their hands dirty.

You were always one for taking risks.

So, as you downed your last home-made margarita and stuffed your bits and pieces into your shoulder bag, you were off out the door.

Tonight was a field day; an excuse to go out and get absolutely trollied all in the name of science. It was just getting late, the sun had set a few hours ago and the Gotham nightlife brought the streets to life; ironically, considering the insanely high murder rates. Some would call you mad, a single, young, attractive woman walking unfamiliar streets at this time of night, in Gotham. And you supposed you were. See, the only reason you were studying crime was out of pure fascination. Fascination, yes. The theory of it, really - how the human mind comprehended such decisions and why you lived in such a society - who branded these rules? Desperation was a word you liked to play with. Its meaning subjective depending on your own reality, really. You had always seen the world differently... criminals weren't inherently bad people to you, they were just often misunderstood, brandished, acting out of desperation at someone else's greed. Obviously, you had the complete and utter fucking mentalists, but even then you could find an argument in their favour - like the Joker; he was misunderstood, torn and thrown around like a rag doll until he made a stand, a particularly violent one, but a stand nonetheless; a stand out of desperation to be heard, to be understood. And deep down you resonated with his actions, being driven to the extremes to be listened to.

You knew exactly how he felt. You had the scars to prove it.

Enough on that, though; you're here for a good time, right? Right. You're going out to forget about the stingy shithole you'll be returning to once the night bleeds into morning, to forget about the mountain of case studies you've yet to work through. It was all a bit overwhelming; thus solidifying your burning need to procrastinate and forget about it all, and what better way to do it than get black-out drunk in a bar you've never been to before?

You weren't an alcoholic by any means, you didn't rely on the sweet burn to see you through the days, but that didn't mean you couldn't revel in the double-ended spear of its toxicity - drinking so much to forget, but its effects only temporary. You were a student, after all, you had to live up to the stereotype?

You scoffed at the thought, murmuring out loud, "Fucking hell." Ok maybe you needed to slow down a little bit... you put the hipflask back in its pouch whilst you continued to walk to your third bar of the night.

You were on a pub crawl of sorts, embarking on your own little quest to scout out the best club in town for further investigation. You were just balancing on that fuzzy tightrope between bliss and blindness, the perfect haze to blur out the dangers of the night and warm your skin despite the bitter cold. You were in your own little world it seemed, and as a bright neon sign for a secluded back alley club came into view, you knew you had to investigate.

"Card." Came the burly voice in front of you. You had to crane your neck up to meet their eyeline, trying your best to pull a serious face and not laugh at the imaginary comedy sketch playing out in your mind.

"Card, you mean ID?" You ask, one eyebrow furrowing in question. You had all the relevant stuff, and deep down you'd be offended if they didn't ask, you'd only just turned 21, a few months ago in fact.

"No, Entry Card, VIP." He reiterates, crossing his hands in front of his chest. You scoff at the idea that a place like this required VIP cards to get in. 'Really? They'd have to pay me to not go in, ha' you humour to yourself, finding the joke a little too funny in your drunken state.

"What's so funny?" The man asks again, a bit more aggressively this time, like he knew you were mocking him in your head. And you were. You knew you shouldn't push your luck, his size easily outmatching yours. But fuck it.

"Nothin sweetheart, just surprised 'tis all," You tease, rolling your eyes as you put your ID away and prepare to leave the queue.

The bouncer can't help himself, "Surprised?"

"Mmm, yes, surprised, or disappointed? You choose." You smirk as you turn away, hips swaying in a drunken swagger that you would never normally possess. Something about you tonight just screamed fucking goddess - and 'don't fuck with me else it will be the last thing you do' - you didn't know why; you were in no state to start a bar fight and win. Maybe it was the tight, black faux leather flares and wrap around corset that filled you with a placebo pill of confidence; but by god did you have a stunning poker face, one that seemed to have caught the eyes of someone other than the bouncer you were antagonising.

A whistle stopped you in your tracks.

You stood on the edge of the pavement, back to the club, your hair flowing slightly in the wind. You tilted your head slightly towards the sound, your minimal movement the only sign of your acknowledgement. You really hated catcallers. It was one of the few things that would really wind you up, your short and temperate anger fizzing and popping under the surface.

"Let her in." Came a new voice. You turned around, eyes landing on an unfamiliar face. He was a tall guy, with an ice-white buzzcut and a sculpted face sporting scars; new and old - his brows knit into a harsh line and his piercing gaze instructing you with just his silent intention. You decide to play along, smirking back at him as you turn and saunter your way back to the entryway. As you walk past the bouncer you position yourself against him, slighting a faint touch of your body to his, sure to leave a whisper of your perfume lingering in the air as a sort of poisonous parting gift - a nicely packaged fuck you.

Your pupils instantly dilated to the sight laid before you. Ok, you take it back. This was no dingey club. Your skin was coated in an inciting shade of red; the coloured theme of the club. It was stimulating, the atmosphere - reigniting that previous cockiness you had been secretly harbouring through the night and twisting it into something still unfamiliar to you, the inner thrumming residing behind your naval indistinguishable from the music reverberating around the club.

The man who had whistled at you had disappeared, so you took this as your opportunity to grab a couple more drinks, to scout the club, of course...

You sauntered over to the bar and after a moment of getting yourself comfortable on the stool, locked eyes with the bartender. They didn't hold the same ferocity as the man before, and you felt your outer guard falling slightly at the soft tones lacing their eyes, their general aura giving off nothing inherently dangerous. They walk over, one hand wiping away at a newly washed pint glass with a rag.

"What can I get you?" They ask politely. They seemed young, too young in fact to be working behind the bar, but now wasn't the time for serious investigating - you highly doubted he was underage, just in fact sporting an inherent babyface. You smile sweetly back at the bartender as you purr your reply, "Whiskey on the rocks, please."

"Oh? Honey that's strong?" He questions, an eyebrow furrowing at your request. You giggle at his innocence.

"Mhm, make it a double." You smirk, and he only reciprocated, pouring a double and a little extra.

"You're new 'round here, aren't you?" He states as he passes over your drink, and you nod as you take a sip, soon following up with a further reply, "That obvious?"

"No, I just would've remembered a pretty face like yours if you'd been here before." He flirts, leaning down onto the bar, elbows sitting comfortably on the dark mahogany surface - it was a tactical move, you knew it, he was getting closer to you by the minute and you noticed his blatant interest the moment he locked eyes with you. You'd play along for a little while, it was good practice anyway, investigating.

You smile before replying, a brief pause between sips to sell your contemplation, "I can tell you're not one for wasting time..." You pause, implying silently for his name.

"Alex." He smirks, holding his hand out to you. You shake it, surprised by the dexterity. But as you thought things were going well, he pulls away sharply, his gaze dropping from you as he scurries back to the other side of the bar nervously. Your face scrunches in confusion, wondering exactly what you'd done wrong.

A firm hand around your waist answers your question.

The presence of another behind you makes you tense momentarily, their forward nature catching you off guard. A hand swirls around the small of your back, stopping at the natural curve of your waist, their palm sitting comfortably in the dip as their fingers latched into your exposed skin. The grip is tight, possessive - possessive for someone you didn't even know the face of. Your nervousness quickly turns into a tizzy, frustrated at the being behind you and their audacity to hold you so. You twist, turning your head to meet the side of their face, eyes rough with your bubbling anger.

The sharp-edged, stubbly profile of a man greets you, a little too close for comfort.

"Alex, two of whatever she's ordered on me, 'kay?" The man says. You roll your eyes at his cockiness, picking up your whiskey glass and downing the rest of the hot honey, burning your throat in the process - but you invited the pain, it's scorch momentarily masking the uninvited heat that was building elsewhere.

"I can order my own drinks, thank you." You scoff, sliding off of the barstool and away from his grasp, picking up your bag so that you can leave.

The man scoffs, using one hand to bring the red-tinted shades sitting on his nose sliding down, tilting his head to give you a better look. You turn and face him at the wrong time it seems, interrupting his very blatant scan of your form. You scoff at his actions, turning harshly to go, muttering to him as you walk past him and towards the exit, "In your fucking dreams."

Yeah - you tell him, girl. Too fucking right, that's what he gets for...that. Maybe you were overreacting, but the way your skin heated like wildfire at his unexpected touch, the way the previously dormant thrumming deep within your stomach tinged with a spark of something you hadn't felt in a long time, a feeling that was unfortunately not one of pleasure to you - you panicked. You'd never reacted like this, but something about his presence was just dominating your senses and you had to get away, to clear your head; maybe it was the alcohol, you didn't know - you didn't care, you just wanted fresh air and five minutes to get whatever the fuck has come over you out of your system.

"I see manners are not your chosen language," The man jokes, but he doesn't bother hiding the icy bitter frustration at your rejection. But you carry on, moving away from his ensuing footsteps.

"Neither are they yours," You retort, turning the corner towards the back exit. But you don't make it to the back exit. The scarred man from before moves from the shadows and grips your upper arm, swivelling you in one motion to face your incessant assailant. You don't give him the privilege of your attention, instead choosing to stare wide-eyed at the ground. Your bubbling anger evolves into something more pertinent, more feral, "What the fuck is it with you guys?" You spit, trying your best to yank your arm free. It was no good, every time you moved his grip on you tightened.

"That's no way to speak to a kind gentleman, is it darling?" The stubble-haired man chides, waving a hand in a dramatic swish as he talks.

"You and gentlemen is a bit of a reach, don't you think? And kind too, don't flatter yourself sweetheart -- hey! Let me go!" You scorn, yanking away harder. Your heart was starting to race now, the phantom ghost of familiar brutish hands that had hurt you before were blurring with your present reality. You couldn't go through that again, no. You'd moved away for a reason, even if it were disguised by your University Degree, the real reason was to get away from him.

Your change in body language seemed to shock both men, and soon the bearded man orders the other to let you go.

"Zsasz, let her go." He says sternly. As soon as his grip is off of you, you practically run to the bathroom, locking yourself in the stall. You close your eyes. You were trying so, so hard to help yourself, but it was just not to be. The last 12 months come crashing down on you, and you were helpless against the murderous gravity of it all. Your panic quickly turned into terror, and no matter how hard you tried to suppress the overbearing feelings blistering your heart, their clutch was now embedded into your conscious and they were working their way out, ripping and tearing, leaving nothing but devastation in its wake. It was brutish, the power of it all; how after all this time those short few moments held such a crippling power over you, a power no matter how hard you tried to overrule, decimated you each and every time. You're so caught up in your emotions that you don't hear the lock on the bathroom click, nor do you hear the faint rustling of a velvet suit making its way towards your stall.

However, you do hear the tap-tap of leather-coated knuckles against the door.

"Fuck off," You spit, not even attempting to mask the raspy panic between each word. The other person didn't say anything, and silence engulfed the room momentarily, only the occasional piercing sounds of your choked panic ripping the hazy-yellow neon light animating the bathroom. The clink of glass to wood brought your head up, your attention distracted and now upon the glass of whiskey being slid underneath the door.

"A peace offering," A familiar voice clarifies. You snatch up the drink and down it in one, desperate for a distraction; a controllable discomfort. You cough roughly at the strength, the new soreness from your rasped panic mixing distastefully with the burn from the alcohol - note taken; don't ever do that again.

You take a second to let the burn cool before speaking, "Thanks...for the drink." 

He doesn't bother with a reply.

Another few moments pass and you feel you have yourself under control. You take in a deep breath and straighten your clothes out as you stand, brushing the stray hairs from your face and trying your best to look presentable despite the absence of a mirror. You unlock the door and move to step out, hand holding the empty glass out aimlessly for the other man to take.

He doesn't take it.

You furrow your brows and pause in your movements, and it is only now you chance a look into his eyes for the first time. The moment your eyes meet his, you regret it. Not because you're scared or frightened, no; you regret it because you know those are eyes you will forever see in your dreams. This man's eyes told you similar tales of the navy shores from home that you had often resided to in search of peace, the lighter hues telling tales of the midwinter sky you would doze under; and the occasional slash of cobalt reflected the darker depths of his soul, mirroring the light of unnamed stars. His eyes painted your soul in a colour you'd yet to see, a colour only he could grace you with, and it made you weak.

You were transfixed, held stationary by his unspoken authority. He raised an eyebrow at you, his understanding all too clear. You broke from your haze and scuffed, a hot blush creeping over your tear-stained cheeks.

Embarrassed couldn't even cover it.

"Fuck," you whispered, wiping away once again at the drying streaks of once warm tears on your cheeks. "FUCK!" You shout louder this time, chastising yourself as you come back to reality. What the fuck are you doing? You're stronger than this?

"How about we fix you another drink, hmm?" He says. You chuckle as you pinch the bridge of your nose, the heavy daze from the whiskey starting to mount its assault on your senses. Fuck it, you came here to get blackout drunk, so you're going to get fucking blackout drunk - for free by the looks of it.

You roll your shoulders and pick your head up, holding it high. "Sure, ugh--?" You say, holding out your hand to shake his as you hint for his name.

He replies with a smirk before turning you towards the door, catching himself before he places a hand at the small of your back, "Roman, Roman Sionis."

"Well, Roman, how about a pitcher or two?" You challenge, "Ever drunk with a student before?"

He didn't reply instantly, but you didn't let him, storming confidently out of the bathrooms and to the bar. You honed in on Alex, and at first he looked excited to see you, but as you approached he saw the darkness in your eyes and instantly knew you were'nt to be messed with. He poured a double shot of Vodka and Coke as quick as he could; it didn't even reach the counter before its contents were emptied by yours truly and slammed back onto the mahogany.

"Another." You growl, and Alex doesn't hesitate, the next drink landing in your hands within moments. You sink this one like the last, face maintaining the deadly glare it had held since you entered the room. Roman was soon at your side, marvelling at your drinking abilities; it was scary actually, how you managed to down your alcohol with such ease, expressionless. His grin faltered on your fourth shot and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, breaking your anamatronic trance and stealing your attention to him; that's better - Roman always got what he wanted, and he wanted you. He raised an eyebrow at your anger, wondering how he could capitalise on this and turn the situation in his favour. But for some reason, he hesitates; the thought of being cruel to you made his skin shiver in an unpleasent way - oddly. See, Mr Sionis was a criminal, a violent, feral monster who, if he did not get his own way, or was undermined or disrespected, made sure that those were the last things said person would inflict - for disrespecting the King of Gotham's underground was a penalty punishable by death. A slow, torturous death, courtesy of his own cynical ministrations. He was the Black Mask, and the Black Mask felt no mercy. Why should he sympathise when he could not receive such pleasures? Others can't have what he cannot, that simply is not fair, its preposterous. And like the narcissistic bastard he was, he reasoned with this part of himself, convincing the little golden figure sat perched on his right shoulder that he was doing the nice thing by not kidnapping you right now and keeping you for himself. Something about you was different, he could sense it - he recognised the brutal blaze swirling in the depths of your eyes. They reflected his own - murderous. And that's when the little red devil on his left shoulder made their attendance known, reinforcing Romans suspicions. This girl had the devil in her, the same devil within him.

"What?" You asked, incredulously. Roman had been staring at you for longer than was comfortable, and you knew he was deep in thought over something. His eyes flicked like an old VHS tape, his physical thoughts and their direction reflecting in the depths of his scrutiny over you.

Roman grinned at his plan. He had to have you, but he knew now that forcing himself was not an option - he had to wait for you to come to him. And what better way than to get someones attention by no longer wanting it? It was the ultimate power play he thought, his excitement at the idea of you being his under your own intention ignited a blistering fire of self admiration within him - Roman Sionis was a fucking genius he thought, no, he knew.

"Nothing Darling, ciao." He replied smugly, his lips stressing a shit-eating grin at his own devious plan. He waltzed away from you to find Zsazs, desperate to let him in on his incredible plan.

You scoff at your dismissal. The fuck was all that about?

Rolling your eyes, your turn to Alex. You take a second to allow the room to catch up with you, "Did you see that?" You ask Alex, moving your head slightly to the side in a nod towards the now retreated Roman. Alex scoffs, placing a pint of water on the bar in front of you. You cut him a look of displeasure but knew you should probably slow down if you wanted to get back safe tonight.

"That guy, my dear, is Mr Sionis." Alex said, lifting his brows as at your confused look.

"Mr Sionis...right, and he is...?" You say, waving your hands in a confused manner.

Alex looked stunted, but continued to serve a few orders before continuing his conversation with you, "Well, Mr Sionis is the owner of this club."

Your eyes widen at the realisation, "The owner?" You mutter.

"Mhm." Alex hummed, amused.

But the conversation took a new direction, a direction Alex was not expecting.

"Tell me about this Mr Sionis, Alex." You murmur, gliding into your soft, convincing voice you used to get information about men.

"Well, he's the owner of this club, and my boss. He pays well." Alex starts, trying his best to close of the conversation.

"Hmm, yes; but what about him? What type of person is he?"

"I don't think--,"

"Alex," you growl, darkly. Your face dropped the sweet smile it had held before and Alex visibly winced. He knew he couldn't say too much, and he didn't know much either, but he also didn't know you, and if living in Gotham had any perks; he knew those eyes - they were the eyes of someone you did not fuck with if you wanted to keep breathing. So, Alex moved across the bar, leaning in on his elbows so he could whisper to you over the loud music; where only the two of you could be heard.

"He, he has a particular personality - colourful, bold,-" Alex starts, his eyes shifting past your figure a few times to make sure he wasnt being watched, "-Possessive. He gets what he wants - always. And he will do anything to do so, there's no limits with the guy. You fuck up, you're done."

"Done?" You whisper back, leaning in closer to Alex, only a hairs breath away.

Alex stalls, trying to find a way to answer your question without sinking himself to that fate. But he doesn't get the chance to, as you're pulling away and turning towards an unknown figure behind you.

The next few moments were a blur.

The next thing Alex knew, there was a face being buried into the hard mahogany of the bar, and the loud crack of the mans nose being broken shook Alex from his trance.

You moved so effortlessly, your movements only so perfect through hours of repetition. You didn't even stumble, and with the effectiveness of your ruminations, practically no attention was drawn to the now escalating scene at the bar.

"On what fucking planet is it ok to grab anyone like the way you just groped me, huh?" You whispered into your assailants ear. They whined and coughed, shifting under the mounting pressure you were placing at their shoulder. You had grabbed them by the arm the moment you felt their hand sliding across your ass, and the quick pinch had you seeing red - moving through muscle memory and destabilising the man by using his own weight against him. He was now bent over the bar, head buried in broken glass, his shoulder ready to pop at any moment. He was at your mercy and your blood turned primitive. You'd had enough of creepy perverts tonight.

"The fuck is wrong with you lady? It wasn't anythin' bad," The man groans, blood pouring from his nose and staining the white shirt he was wearing.

You pressed harder, muffling the pop of his shoulder joint and his cry of pain with a loud laugh, "Say, Frank - how bout you walk out this club now under your own premise before I have you wheeled out in a bodybag?" You sigh.

"The fuck, how'd you know my name was Frank?" he growled, grunting at the pain.

"Not only are you incredibly rude, but you're also rather obnoxious too, you fucking loser." You sneer, shifting his dislocated shoulder further round. He screamed, but only briefly, as you soon shut him up with a face full of glass.

"Fuck off, Frank, and don't come back."

You release him and he instantly turns and scampers away like the injured hyena he was. Rolling your eyes you turn back to Alex, who's eyes are wide with shock.

"Alex..." You mumble, and he gulps, his eyes searching yours out of panic over what you'll do next, "Just fix me a drink and I’ll be off. Sorry for the mess." You say calmly as if nothing happened. And that's the way it seemed, as no one even batted an eyelid to the violent display from moments ago. Alex says nothing but does as he's told, making you up an extra strong rum and coke. You down the drink and place the glass down.

"Where's the emergency exit?" You ask Alex, and he points to the door behind the bar. You smile, sliding him a small tip - hush money - and exit the building.

You made it about five minutes down the road before things began to get weird - real weird. This wasnt the same type of blurry you got from alcohol, this was colourful, dazy.

"Fuck - that fucker drugged me!" You sneer, words merging together as you propped yourself up against a brick wall. You tried to run over the events in your head, wondering where you tripped up. And then it hit you, the pint glass - when you leaned in to talk to Alex, he’d slipped something in the drink.

"Fu-cckk" You mumble, eyes incredibly droopy now.

You needed to get back to your flat, safety - yes.

But you didn't, as when you tried to move your legs they gave out from under you. This was an incredibly dangerous situation for anyone to be in, especially a young woman on the streets of Gotham. But the drugs worked quickly against your system, and before you had any time to prepare yourself for your inevitable demise, you blacked out

[ivedescoveredheathsjoker]

Adrenaline

L!Joker/Patrick/Eric Draven/reader

Warnings: mentions of death

Note: this wasn't edited i just wrote it and bam posted. This was an idea given to me by @whoslaughingnow-comic while talking about Eric and my two other boys.

(Not my gif)

You had been dating Eric for about 2 years when he was brutality murdered in his apartment on Devil's night.

His death hit you like nothing else had. You felt terribly lonely and missed his loveing embrace. You had a few of his belongings which he had left in your appartment the night before; his guitar, a pic and one of his shirts.

In the weeks of his absence you had turned the pic into a necklace and wore it everywhere. Eventually it became apart of you, never taking it off.

As you tried to move on, you couldn't. Everywhere you went you were reminded of him. The old club you went to to see his band play, the coffee shop where you had your first date, the record shop where you met and eneded up going to every week.

Then there was your apartment. You had everything in boxes, seeing as you were to move in together that week. Too lazy were you to take everything out, yet it hurt to see the boxes piled high.

2 months went by when you decided to move to the other side of Gotham. A nicer area, a bit farther from the dangers of the mob. You eventually settled into the area falling into a routine, enjoying the local pub, going to cafe, and working at the record shop.

One night while you were at the pub you meet a young man named Patrick Verona. He wasn't hitting on you or trying to get your attention, no. He had asked you about the band on your shirt. The two of you talked for a while about music, movies and city life. Eventually he asked you to dance while Plainsong played in the background.

You couldn't help but smile as you danced with him. How could you not? He had the biggest smile you had ever seen!

As the night drew to a close Patrick insisted on walking you home, "It's the right thing to do." All along the way you didn't stop smiling, though in the back of your mind you worried if it was a trap. Ignoring that thought you enjoyed his company until you got to your apartment. That night you gave him your number and agreed to a first date.

As you entered your apartment smiling you frowned when you saw the gutar next to the sofa. "What would Eric think?" You wondered, "would he want me to move on?" That night for the first time in 5 months you desided not to sleep with his shirt. That night you desided to move on.

After sleeping over one night Patrick asked you about the necklace.

"Is it a lucky charm?"

"Yes...and no... It was given to me by somone I loved."

"I see," he smiled and kissed you. "Did they give you the guitar too?" You nodded.

As time went by you and Patrick were a happy couple. Though the guilt of Eric hit you at times; somtimes it was the guilt of hiding him from Patrick, other times it was the guilt you felt for loving Patrick. Those were the times you would take out his shirt and hold it tight. How it still meant so much to you with almost a year having gone by.

By the aniverseray of Eric's death, you still hadn't told Patrick about Eric. You decided that you would have them meet.

You were nervous about it. "What if Pat dosent understand...what if he gets upset." It was the day before your trip when you tell him. At first he's shocked and asks you why you hadn't told him. You explain that you were afraid he would leave you,that it would scare him away. As you told Patrick more, you can't help but cry. He held you close to him, as he rubbed your back. He had lost a few people close to him as well, but he couldn't imagine losing a partner. He could hear the love as you talked about Eric. Patric could also tell that you loved him the same way.

As you went to bed Patrick held you close to him and kissed your head.

The next day you both headed to the subway, making your way towards the east side of Gotham. Once you both arrived you showed Patrick around the area where you used to live. It was so strange being there with Patrick. You were over come with emotions as you passed the boarded up apartment building Eric used to live in. You held Patrick's hand as tightly as you could, holding back tears. Once you arrive at the graveyard, Patrick tells you to go in first and have a moment alone. Greatfully, you head towards his grave only to find an empty pit and a headstone with a crow sitting upon it.

Fearfully you call out to Patrick who comes running over to you. Both staring at the grave you both stand there dumb founded. All you can hear is the quiet echo of the city and the soft piter pater of rain.

A voice in a whisper breaks the silence. "Y/n?" You heard it and turned to see Eric. Seeing you move Patrick turns to see him. The three of you stand there staring at one another for what feels like an hour.

"E-eric? Your-your dead....ho-how...?" You say as you approach him, ever so slowly. "Y/n..." He said as he quickly aproached you huging you for the first time in a year. As he sees the tears in your eyes he wipes them away.

"I don't know what I am. All I know is that I'm back here." Is the response you receive from your previous question.

You slowly break away from the hug, sadly, as you look over to Patrick. "Th-This is Patrick. He's-he's my uh, boyfriend." Patrick nods shakily walking over to you. "Nice to uh, meet you mate." He says shaking his hand.

Eric lead you both to his apartment explaining what he knows. He wants revenge on those who killed him and tore him from his love. You gave a sad smile as you walked into the scorched apartment, seeing a few salvageable items.

You were quick to pick up a polaroid of the two of you cuddleing close. Patrick couldn't help but smile at it when he looked over your shoulder. Eric smiled as well, knowing which picture you were looking at.

You lead Patrick towards a singed black sofa and sat down listening to more of what Eric had to say. He had yet to meet a man by the name of Joker. A man who played by his own rules and was stealing money from the mob. A rumor was going around that he had offered to kill Batman for the mob.

Patrick frowned, he didn't like the idea of revenge, no matter how horrible those people were. Patrick didn't like how violent vigilantes could be, and by the sounds of it, Eric was rather violent. Especially as he heard the tale of how the gangster T-Bird died.

You on the other hand agreed. You felt that justice was finnaly being served. You were glad that your Eric was being a hero and helping to remove the scum of Gotham.

Slowly the conversation went from dark to light as Eric began to ask both of you questions. Eric had originally been taken aback when he saw Patrick with you, but was starting to warm up to him seeing that he truly did love you. As Eric asked more questions Patrick did too. Both men were curious of the other, and were quickly trusting one another.

It made you smile so brightly to see them getting to know one another without any sort of malice.

As night began to approach Patrick was the one who had to tell you that you needed to head home before it got too dark. When you began to protest Eric was quick to agree with Patrick telling you that it wouldn't be the last time you saw him. Despite how badly you wanted to stay, you began to follow Patrick out and started making your way home.

Halfway you began to notice a single black crow following the two of you. When you told Patrick he smiled telling you it must be a sign from Eric, to keep the two of you safe.

Later that night when you your arrived home you found a record from his band on the counter. Neither of you knew how it got there, but you were happy to have it.

After that day the two of you often found small presents from Eric. You also would receive random visits from Eric which slowly began to fall into a routine. Though his visits slowly became became longer and longer.

Eventually he started staying with the two of you. When he wasn't hunting out the evils of Gotham, he was sleeping on the sofa, often without either of you knowing.

When Patrick finds out he suggests that he alternates nights. At first Eric opposes this idea, not wanting to leave either of you unprotected. Though he ended up agreeing to alternate with Pat to sleep in bed. On the nights Pat slept on the sofa, Eric's crow would watch over him; allowing Eric to feel at ease with his decision.

One night you and Pat awoke to a loud thud. Thinking it was Eric coming home from his work, you told Patrick to go back to sleep, and you headed towards the kitchen.

Upon entering the kitchen you can't help but laugh at the color of his hair and coat. Unlike his ussual black attire he was wearing a purple trench coat and had his hair died green. At the sound of your laughter Eric stood up from the fridge abd as he turned you stoped laughing.

The man before you was not Eric, but rather a stranger. White, black, and red grease paint covered his face making him look even more menicing. Not to mention the feirce scars that created a permanent smile, did little to keep you calm.

"Boo." Was all he said to have you running and screaming for Patrick and Eric.

Eric arrived just in time to see you running into the bedroom and to hear the laughing in the kitchen. Eric steadily headed towards the kitchen. He frowned as he saw the clown before him.

"J..."

"Now I know why you said Boo!" J said in between bursts of laughter.

"I told you not to scare them."

Patrick of course hearing all the commotion, walked in with you trembling in his arms.

"Whose this? Howd-"

"This is the one I told you about. This is Joker. He's helping me with the mob."

Patrick looked up at him. "How? I heard he was robbing banks."

"Not just any banks, koala, but the mob's banks." Joker said as his laughing finnially died down. "It's a pleasure to meet you both." He said smiling like a toddler.

Eric gave you a hug. "He's all bark and no bite around us. He won't hurt you."

He had you and Patrick return to bed while he and J stayed up and talked about the mob.

By morning the Joker was gone and you hadn't seen him until the next week, when he jumped out from behind the door and scared you.

Though as time went by you slowly began to get used to his jump scares. His vists to your apartment slowly became more frequent. Patrick, who still felt rather uneasy around him, was beginning to become used to his presence. For Patrick the clown reminded him of a crazier version of Eric.

Eric and Patrick had become rather close in the last few months. Both of whom began to get used to the idea of napping together.

Soon J followed suit, squishing Eric in the middle of the sofa.

For you, those moments were sweet, when your boys were together peacefully. No worries. No fighting. No plans. Just peace amongst them. Somthing that neither of them tended to bring to the table.

Over this time, you too, began to have a closer bond with the crazed clown. He had even began to call you Bunny, thanks to your first encounter.

With his help though, you began to learn how to throw knives, shoot guns, and build a bomb (not that it was needed). On the other hand Patrick didn't quiet agree with J on these leasons, why should anyone know how to build a bomb. Often you and Eric would break up the bickering between the two.

As more time went by the four of you began to fall into a strange relationship. One that was rather unconventional. But then again none of you were conventional.

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

The Best Things ~ J.V. (Part 1)

A/n: I'm so sorry but I DESPERATELY needed to get this off my chest before I exploded because I have absolutely NO self control.

I made a playlist

Word Count: 5000+

MASTERLIST

Come in sets of two...

Y/n was an oddball.

At least that's what his parents said- a lot.

"You're such an oddball."

It seemed that they meant it endearingly, but the words stuck with Y/n much more than they probably should have. And maybe that was less because of his parents or even his brother and more because of the media and the other kids that treated him very differently than they usually treated other people.

It probably didn't help that he was a Wayne.

Bruce Wayne was an absolute golden boy. He was responsible, driven, intelligent. He was a staple for Boys Going Somewhere. A face to an idea that everyone absolutely adored. It was known very well that Bruce was going to be the successor to Wayne Enterprises- even though Y/n was two years older. Bruce was good to the core, with a wide smile but a certain professionalism that most adults didn't ever master.He was level headed and figured things out very easily. His parents were incredibly proud of him and held him very dearly, and it showed.

Y/n wasn't anything like him. He preferred staying up late and watching the stars or the sun set and then rise again, compared to understanding anything about business. He was somewhat of an artist. He had notebooks full of drawings and his room was covered with thumbtacked paintings he'd put on his wall with pride, even though most of them were what he was known for: people, animals, or objects that he'd fixated on long enough to paint them... except that they were often multiple things in one painting, and they were all mashed together in a rather alarming sight. He walked around with paint in his hair and on his clothes, his eyes bright and shining and his energy completely uncontained. He had no sense of self control or when to be quiet or calm. Most often he wasn't even found at home, as he went to school and then hung out with friends he'd made on the streets.

It was instantly incredibly obvious the drastic difference between the two boys, and people had been bidding on which one would succeed and which one would flop the very first second Bruce had been born. Every bet was on Bruce making it.

Despite everything, Y/n and Bruce got along very well. Y/n was rather emotional and got upset very quickly when he was ignored, which worked quite nicely with Bruce's curiosity. Y/n could go on for hours about the same thing and Bruce would listen. Bruce could ask questions about one painting for just as long and Y/n would eagerly answer each one, going into as much detail as possible. Y/n pulled Bruce out of his comfort zone and gave him a little fun outside of the expectations that were constantly pressing down on him. Likewise, Bruce took up the mantle and allowed Y/n the complete freedom to be himself and be appreciated for it.

Even the boys' parents had a pretty steady relationship with Y/n. They found him to be a little much, but with Bruce leaving them reassured that their company would be in a pair of capable hands, they were perfectly fine with letting Y/n go absolutely wild. As log as he was safe and everything he did was legal. They might live in Gotham, but the Waynes were good people and that wasn't changing anytime soon.

Overall, they were a very happy family.

Everything changed the night Thomas and Martha Wayne were shot dead on a way home from a movie they'd taken Bruce to.

It had been a night out like any other. Y/n stayed home as usual- it was the only time he could turn his music all the way up and completely lose himself in whatever he wanted to. The others didn't mind. It let Y/n blow off steam and made him much calmer for a while; in addition, they had a night out together and got to bond with Bruce. Sometimes they'd take just Y/n, and sometimes Y/n and Bruce would go out together without their parents, but most of the time it was Thomas and Martha and Bruce, and each Wayne was okay with that.

Y/n was staring at a half painted canvas, eyes wide and fingers trailing the path of his lips. He was loving the loudness and the thumping of the beat under his feet. Like it was in his blood. He smiled, raising the paintbrush.

The door busted open. "Y/N!"

Y/n spun around, startled. In the sharp movement, he knocked over a tiny bowl full of paint. Alfred reached over, turning the music off. "Your parents were shot and killed. Bruce is home early." Red paint dripped down the easel and over Y/n's shoes as the words tried to sink in but failed.It was like looking at something see through or invisible. Like feeling the breeze and wishing to catch it, but never able to close your fingers around empty air. Y/n just couldn't comprehend what Alfred was saying. Sensing his shock, Alfred moved closer. His voice was softer when he repeated, "Y/n. Bruce needs you. He won't admit it, but I can't help him lone.He won;t even admit he needs help. He might open up to you."

"No," Y/n choked out. Martha Wayne was far too kind and gentle. She was warmth and safety incarnate. Something so good and bright wasn't allowed to fade. Like yellow paint,or the sun. She always came back in the morning Always. And Thomas Wayne was... unbreakable. Unshakable. Impossible to even faze, let alone kill. He was unbeatable. Nothing could kill him. He'd live forever. Or, at the very least, go out at his own time when he was completely sure he was ready to. "No."

"Yes," Alfred insisted, shaking Y/n's shoulders violently. Y/n flinched. "Please-"

Without another word, Y/n pushed away from Alfred and sped to Bruce's room. He didn't even knock. Bruce was sitting on his bed, his eyes haunted and his lips resting in a soft frown. His hands were in his lap as he perched on the edge of the bed like he was planning to run any second, but he also seemed cemented in place as if he couldn't go anywhere even if he wanted to. He was scary still, and as his eyes slowly moved from the floor to meet Y/n's gaze, the older Wayne shivered at the darkness in his gaze. "Bruce?"

Bruce nodded stiffly in forced greeting. "Y/n."

Y/n bit his lip. Bruce's gaze fell to Y/n's feet and widened, his hands tightening on his knees. Y/n looked down to see the red paint still on his shoe, beginning to dry, and immediately felt sick. "So-" he cut off, his throat burning like he'd swallowed acid."So they're really-"

"Yeah," Bruce interrupted.

"You were there."

"Yeah."

Silence fell like a piano from a fifth story building. Even when the silence left, the feeling didn't. Both boys were suddenly being crushed under the weight of a ginormous object neither of them could see let alone explain or find the strength to remove. It stayed through the funeral, and onward. It manifested differently for each boy.

Bruce began to dig into his parents' murder, sifting through file after file, night after night. He got little sleep and ate even less often. At least he wasn't hurting himself anymore. That he had done a lot right before Alfred, Y/n, and Jim Gordon had all teamed up to knock him out of it.

Y/n was thrown into the world of business. He was torn away from everything he cared about. His freedom and dreams were stolen ad he was forced to clean up and get into a suit and start taking care of the family company- at least until Bruce was ready. In a few months he lost not only the things he enjoyed and his parents, but also his friends and the easy going way of life. He was beaten down and forced to be calm and collected. He was taught how to not deal with emotions like real men do and handle business that needed to get taken care of. He wasn't a person anymore. He was a tool.

It was unbearable for Bruce. He was losing all of his family in one go and as he tried to fight to make sense of it or keep anything of his old life, people kept trying to knock him down a peg and remind him that he was a child. Even though Y/n, barely 14, was apparently old enough to have the world on his shoulders when he was completely and totally not able to handle it in any way. It was supposed to be Bruce's job.

Finally he managed to prove his capabilities, but not in time to save Y/n. He had been rung out by the press and pushed to the brink and then over by the people at Wayne Enterprises. When he got his free time back, he didn't spend it watching the stars or the sun rise and fall. He didn't spend it painting dogs and lamps. He didn't spend it doodling and ranting to Bruce about all the things he found wonderful about the world. He spent each and every second he had locked in his room, painting.

The colors of each work began to get darker, the themes more twisted. They got better as he fixated on one thing only... unfortunately, that thing was death.

Y/n was spiraling. He didn't take care of himself and sometimes didn't come out of his room for days. Bruce tried to get through to him, but it seemed that something really bad had happened while everyone had expected him to be in charge. The thing was, there were no hints about it and of course no one at the company would fess up about anything. Y/n wouldn't talk about it. Anytime anyone even mentioned Wayne Enterprises, he would pull away and become unresponsive.

Then the Maniax began wreaking havoc.

Y/n's focus suddenly changed. He wasn't fascinated per say by the horrible things going wrong, but more the people that were committing the heinous acts. One day Bruce finally got him to talk about it, and all Y/n had to say was, "I mean, who does that? Who goes around just killing people like it doesn't mean anything? For no reason? Look at the redhead- he shoots one of his own guys for no reason- Look, right there. What kind of mental state would someone have to be in to be so flippant about taking a life?"

The obsession with the Maniax was soon followed by an obsession of killers in general. He was found constantly reading history books about some of the world's worst killers. Then, about Gotham's worst killers specifically.

That was why Bruce went to him when he began to get involved with that same redhead that had set Y/n down this path in the very beginning. "What do you think drives him? I mean, why do what he does?" Bruce asked his brother one day. It had been quite a while since they'd sat down and talked like this. When Bruce would ask questions about something Y/n fixated on and Y/n answered with pure eagerness. This had been the first time the information had been useful or had a realistic application, and it was upsetting.

"Probably some mental disorders. Perhaps some childhood trauma. He's probably immensely desensitized..." He paused. "Jerome Velaska is actually quite odd. He's probably just psychotic, with some serious abandonment issues and a sort of god complex. He wants to be seen and known and craves endless adoration and attention. He'll do anything to get what he wants, and doesn't have the patience or tolerance for anything else. That's why he acts out- it's like he has the mind of a child. He didn't get his way and now he's going to pitch a fit and chuck his toys. His toys being people and the fit being murder."

Bruce swallowed. "That's demented."

"Hm?" Y/n hummed. He blinked then forced himself to nod. He had zoned out and not blinked to bring himself back to the present. "Yeah. He's totally messed up."

Bruce tried not to ask Y/n about Jerome again after that. There had been a strange light in his eyes. A dangerous interest that made Bruce... nervous.

Everything came to a climatic bang when Alfred took the two brothers out to a charity banquet held in honor of a children's hospital. He'd only managed to get Y/n out because he'd been more energetic recently. More in a good mood. A little more like himself. In favor of seeing Y/n be so much like he used to, neither Alfred nor Bruce questioned it.

Boy did they wish they had though.

The night was seeming to pan out rather dull until the Magician came out. Y/n loved Magicians. He always had. He found their skill to pull off even the most obvious tricks was rather impressive. So when the Magician on stage asked for a volunteer and Bruce was chosen, Y/n was a little disheartened.

Bruce, however, seemed that he would rather do anything else. He had been nagging to leave anyway. Y/n stepped forward. "I can go up for you if you want," he offered.

The woman smiled and on stage, the Magician announced, "Ah yes! Just as well, just as well. Please, join us." The woman held out her hand for Y/n and he took it immediately.

Gotham hadn't seen Y/n in a very long time. People tittered and clapped and Y/n felt nervous. He hadn't been in front of a crowd since-

No, he wouldn't think about that. Tonight it was just some good fun and he'd be okay with that. Wasn't he allowed to have fun every once in a while?

The Magician greeted Y/n then opened a box, motioning for him to get in. He did, with a bounce in his step and excitement in his eyes. The box lid closed over top Y/n and the slats were put in place. It was the classic "sawed in half" trick. Y/n was immediately put off though. It would ruin the magic if an audience member did the trick. The assistant always did this trick, because it required a lot of trick of the eye to work. This way, he'd just get cut in-

Y/n's eyes went wide. The Magician above him smiled deviously.

"Does this handsome gentleman have a name?" Suddenly Y/n's body went cold. He knew that voice. Had heard it again and again and again on tv. He had seen that exact smile accompanying it. He was torn between the horror of the very real possibility of death at any second, and awe at finally meeting the man he'd been unable to get out of his head for the last significant amount of time. Since the whole bus full of high schoolers had almost been set on fire and that soon-to-be familiar face was all over the screen during the news broadcast about it. That face that had been and would be on every news broadcast for quite sometime. The Magician hummed, raising his eyebrows, and Y/n swallowed.

"Y/n," he said. There was no point now. He was trapped and at this man's mercy. What could he do? Cry for help? The most anyone would do is laugh it off, even if he could manage to get the lump out of his throat and get any coherent message across. Plus, something far more demanding kept him silent.

An extremely dangerous sense of curiosity.

If he was going to die tonight anyway, he might as well take his last moments to see what Jerome Valeska was like up close.

"Y/n," the not-magician repeated, musing over the name. "Well, Y/n, this won't hurt a bit." He clanged the two large saws together and Y/n felt breathless. What was he doing?! This was absolute madness! "Is there a doctor in the house?" The crowd laughed. The crowd LAUGHED. Of course they laughed. They always laughed. No one cared about Y/n Wayne.

Suddenly Alfred's voice sounded out, rather panicked. Y/n looked over, surprised. Of all people, Y/n didn't think it would have been Alfred who would have intervened. Alfred had been much too wrapped up in taking care of Bruce. Such as everyone was. Despite that, it was him to stumbled out, "Just- wait- excuse--" He held up a hand, everything going quiet and still as he tripped forward. "Just wait, wait, wait one second."

Jerome didn't wait.

The saw came down.

To his own shock, Y/n was fine.

The assistant rolled away his lower half and then returned it just in time for Jerome to lean close and whisper, "Give em a wave." Y/n looked directly into his eyes and his smile wavered. They were a pretty color. Brown, littered with slight blues and green that came alive under the stage lighting.

"I know who you are." The words wouldn't have been heard by anyone else other than Jerome- even if it wasn't for the clapping. Jerome froze, but Y/n didn't wait. He stood, waved to the audience to show he was alright, and then allowed the assistant to take him back to his place next to Bruce and Alfred.

When Jerome spoke gain, his words seemed to be a little different. Y/n placed the emotion when he turned back around again and saw Jerome's eyes glued intently to Y/n. He wasn't blinking. "Some say Y/n here has a split personality." The audience laughed at the pun and then his voice lightened again as he moved onto his next trick. As he called up the mayor an the set up began, the assistant's mask fell off.

Y/n gasped. He knew that face too. Unmistakable. Barbara Keene. Of course. How did Y/n not see that far sooner?

"I should warn you," Jerome teased lightly. "No one is getting out of here tonight alive." The audience laughed and Y/n thought he would feel terror at the words. What was stopping him now? He could whisper to Bruce or Alfred. To that nice lady from before-

It was then that Y/n realized Lee Thompkins was gone.

Jerome flung a knife straight into the Mayor's gut and Bruce stepped forward, gasping in time with the crowd. Y/n was torn. Why was he torn?! This was simple! Stop this! Right? Surely he could do something.

And yet... he found he didn't want to. God what the hell was wrong with him?

The Mayor fell and people began panicking. The gun shot started and Y/n moved without thinking, slipping behind a curtain and out of sight. He began to move through the curtains until he was far enough fromAlfred not to be stopped, then he was ducking to make sure he didn't get shot- and he waited.

He saw Jerome and Barbara tie up Lee and then make a call. He spoke loudly- it wasn't hard to make out at least one side of the conversation. His demands didn't make sense. They didn't line up at all with his character. Why...?

His maniacal laughter suddenly cut off as he turned to face his newly terrified audience. The moment was interrupted, though, by a new voice. "Enough!" Y/n stepped out from hiding to get a better view, only to see a man he didn't know. That was a new experience on this night where Y/n seemed to be able to put a name to ever face in this room that mattered. "It's time for you to pack up your little sideshow and leave," the man continued. Jerome was still grinning. That didn't make sense either. Why didn't he seemed bummed that his fun was getting interrupted, or a little tentative around the new player he hadn't planned his game around? How had this guy even gotten in, with all the guards outside? It felt off. Y/n could sense it immediately. Even the man spoke like he was... reading lines.

And Jerome responded in the exact same way. Like he was in a show. Like he was acting.

The movements of the two men and the way they formed words seemed so out of place. Even the shot of the gun Barbara used... none of it seemed natural.

Without thinking, Y/n stepped forward. The small noise his steps made immediately caught Jerome's attention. His eyes light up, his smile relaxing to a much more natural place. This was Jerome. The change was impossible to miss for Y/n, who had been carefully studying him so long.

"You," Jerome called, pointing directly at Y/n for the first time tonight. This felt even more thrilling than when Bruce had been picked. Now there was no charade or manipulation. It was just Jerome and Y/n. "Come here." He held up a gun, obviously ready to threaten someone's life to get Y/n to obey, but he was already moving before the words could leave Jerome's mouth. "What a nice boy." Y/n should have been at least pretending to be phased, but he was far too caught up in analyzing Jerome that he didn't think about how his step was confident and unfaltering, taking him to Jerome without any hesitation. He didn't think about the expression on his face, but how it made Jerome specifically respond. By simply having an emotion other than fear, Y/n had caught Jerome's attention and was reveling in it. Jerome could see that too, and it seemed to entertain him even more.

"You just gonna stare at me all day?" Y/n whispered softly, trying not to let his lips twitch into a smirk. Was he... flirting? It felt like he was suddenly outside of his body, watching this train wreck happen, unsure of who was in control or why he was doing anything he was.

Jerome seemed to be absolutely loving it. "Stand here with me." His voice was soft as silk, near purring. Y/n moved to where he motioned and stayed silent. The problem with his new placement: everyone could see his reactions now, not just Jerome. It was time to start acting at the very least.

Turns out he didn't much need to.

Jerome was easily terrifying as he was charismatic.

Every time Y/n thought he had caught on to Jerome schtick, he did something that threw Y/n off completely again. It was all fun and games, playing at murder but then pulling out some joke shot that didn't really make any sense. Did he actually want to keep all of us hostage? Wasn't it enough to have a few? Bruce, me and Alfred because Bruce was Gotham's golden boy, and he wouldn't let anything happen to me or Alfred. Lee Thompkins because she was his bargaining chip. The four of us would be plenty enough of a bargaining chip, maybe a handful more just in case. Why spare everyone, if he really did like killing so much?

There was something to Jerome that really intrigued Y/n. He wondered what the maniac was really thinking. What really drove him to act this way. To take control of a whole room full of Gotham's richest of the most well meaning... only to ask for ridiculous, nonsensical demands and not kill a single one of us.

Again Y/n got that sense, like something else major was actually happening here.

Y/n was zoning out. Missing things. He couldn't focus on the act going. The show that had more layers than what was originally apparent. He missed the whole throw down with Barbara and Lee as well, but caught the gist: Barbara was apparently in love with JimGordon and fancied that they'd end up together. Lee was apparently getting in the way of that. Blah, blah, blah. Girl drama and psychopaths and romance and delusion. Barbara almost killed Lee. Jerome stopped her. So on and so forth.

Then, Jerome attention was on Y/n again all of a sudden, even though he'd been carefully ignoring the boy he'd called up on stage until that point. He grinned at Y/n, the knife he'd taken fromBarbara manifesting in Jerome's hand. The redhead used it more like a finger than a weapon. He ran the dull side of the back of the blade under Y/n's chin, the flipped it so the blade was pressed gently to Y/n's skin. "My favorite volunteer," he said slowly, stepping far too close for what should have been comfortable. "You know, I've seen you on TV."

"And I, you." He hadn't meant to respond, but it had slipped out before he could stop it.

Jerome's head tilted as he popped his chin in pride. "Well, of course. I was meant to be on the big screen. I made my own way. It was my choice to end up where everyone could see me." He took a deep breath in. "You, however... what a scandal." Suddenly Y/n couldn't breath. Jerome roared in giddy, insane laughter. "There he is!" He turned to the audience, motioning to the slight shake of Y/n's body and the sickly pale tint to his skin. "There's that fear! That fear or hate or disgust or whatever it is you all feel for me... except for you." He looked back at Y/n. "We're so similar, Y/n," he sighed. "I'm an orphan too, you know. I don't fear death either."

"You killed your parents," Y/n managed to get out through gritted teeth.

Jerome tilted his head back and forth. "Details, details." The knife was at Y/n's throat again. "You're no fun anymore, you know. Everyone stops being fun at some point. I will give you one thing: you lasted longer than most." The knife pressed further into Y/n's throat and he sucked in a sharp breath as it broke skin, a single drop of blood making a vibrant path down his pale skin.

Gun shots. Suddenly Jerome spun, pressing Y/n's back to his chest, moving the blade so Y/n's was a hostage instead of the focused on target. There was a bit of chaos in the crowd, and Y/n's eyes widened to see Alfred and Jim Gordon of all people mowing through Jerome's lackies. Jim turned his barrel toward Y/n and Jerome. "Let him go!" He shouted. Jerome's giggle rang right next to Y/n's ear. Whatever weird spell from before that had Y/n controlled and calm and still broke and he flinched back away from the blade. Unfortunately, that only brought him closer to Jerome. After a second Jim defeatedly announced, "I don't have a clean shot. Jerome shifted, obviously eager in his moment of victory.

"Stay calm, Y/n," Alfred eased. Bruce was shuffling, knowing it wouldn't help to rush in but having to use every bit of his self control to stop himself from doing just that. He couldn't lose Y/n too. His brother was part of the quickly dwindling family he still had left.

Jerome's breath sounded in Y/n's ear as he gritted his teeth, switching from plying a game to planning an escape. Of course he wanted to get out of here alive. "It seems like we've got ourselves in a bit of a pickle. "What do you say Sweetheart?" Jerome mumbled in his ear. He was twitching, rocking a little from foot to foot. "Why don't we boost our ratings, hm?" The knife moved from one side of Y/n's throat to the other, drawing the smallest line of blood. Y/n gasped, his body shaking in suddenly very real fear. He wondered if this is how his parents had felt, or if they'd died too fast to really be afraid of dying at all. "Smile." Jerome began his wild, broken chittering of a laugh again.

This was familiar. Jerome had been waiting all night to kill someone, and for whatever reason he hadn't. Unfortunately, that meant he was definitely not going to hesitate to now. Y/n closed his eyes, and echoing, "NO!" Coming from his younger brother before he was sure he was about to be enveloped by darkness.

"I said, enough." Jerome let go of Y/n in surprise and both boys turned, unsure where to move from here. Not knowing how to switch gears. There stood the man from earlier. Theo Galavant. Theo grabbed Jerome by the color and drove a knife into the side of his neck. Y/n made a weird, half-choking, half-squeaking sound as the blade made impact into flesh, the audience gasping behind him.

Y/n couldn't move. He fell backwards, tripping over his own feet and barely catching himself as he made his way off the stage and to the ground. Theo must have thought he was further, but he heard it. He heard what the man said next. "I know, I know, I know," he cooed as Jerome choked, dying. Y/n blinked, trying to clear his head. So many thoughts were swimming through it and his chest had begun to tighten and twist. He couldn't breathe. He could still hear though. "This isn't what we rehearsed. I'm so sorry Jerome. You have real talent! But no, you see, the plot thickens. Enter: the hero."

Something horrible settled into Y/n's stomach as Jerome spoke again, his voice weak and raspy. "You... said... I was... gonna be..." He died before the sentence could finish, and Y/n was running. Ramming into Bruce, the boys holding each other tightly as Alfred enveloped them both with his arms.

"It's over," Alfred reassured. "You're safe now, Y/n, it's okay."

The words sounded sincere and full of relief, but Y/n couldn't shake that things were far from over. In fact, he was sure they'd only just begun.

-

[nobodyscarebutandyou]

The Protective- Chapter 2

The Protective

Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader(slow burn) , Adora x Catra, Glimmer x Bow, Oc x Bruce Wayne.

masterlist

Part 1- New Life

Chapter 2- The Sister

"Sorry, what?" Y/N asks by looking at the family lawyer while leaning his elbows on the arms of the leather armchair, which to add is super uncomfortable.

"According to the legal documents prepared by Mrs Amelia L/N, Miss Y/N L/N must stay with her older sister, Samantha L/N, until the age of majority" 

Y/N felt the breath get stuck in his throat, his sister was no different. Sam was shocked, the curly-haired woman passes her hand in her hair and looks at her sister, who had not said a word after the lawyer repeated the guard's will. 

Passing his hand on his face, Y/N gets up, scratches his head, putting on his "I'm not obligated to take this shit" denim jacket, talks before leaving and slamming the office door. 

Sam recovers from the shock, holding the will to run after his sister, smiles at the lawyer with a fake yellow smile.

"Sorry about that, it's a shock to all of us, thank you so much for your work"

Sam and the lawyer shake hands, Jack hands the check and leaves the office along with his older granddaughter. 

Both stand in front of the office, Jack takes a box of cigarettes out of his pocket, puts one in his mouth and lights it with a metal lighter and smokes his cigarette, looking at the horizon, waiting for Sam to start talking.

"Shall we go after her?" 

"She needs time"

"You're going to..."

Sam speaks hesitantly and stops in the middle of the sentence, afraid to collapse this little reality 

"Fight for the Y/N guard? No... I can't take care of her. Maybe she needs some smoke in her lungs."

"Gotham's not bad, Grandpa"

"Says that to the crime rate"

Samantha rolls her eyes, Jack takes the keys from her pocket, throws the cigarette on the floor, steps on it to put it out and goes on to get into the truck, with Sam following her. 

Sitting in the passenger seat, the older sister of our protagonist observes the rural landscape of the small town in which she was born and grew up until her adolescence, the curly-haired brunette lets out a sigh and leans her forehead against the window, closing her eyes, she tries to imagine what her life will be like now, as responsible for her sister who apparently hates her.

Y/N finally arrives at her destination, the small park of her city, she sits on the swing and looks up at the sky, which was even clear for such a cold climate. She closes her eyes and lets out a sigh, so many things happened, discoveries, everything so fast, she felt so confused, everything she hoped now that fate had no surprise. 

Sam leans against the door of his mother's room, watching the place with a sad and distant look. Close your eyes and enter the room with small steps, stand still for a few seconds before opening your eyes, approach your mother's bedside table, and take the small photo frame, Sam passes his finger on the present faces, the photo was her mother,Y/N, her and her father.

The oldest of the L/N family holds the tears and bites her lip hard, despite running away from this... Small town life when she was young and having cut off contact after a few months-after a big argument-, Amy was still her mother and Sam loves her. 

"It's kind of weird.. come back without you here"

The brunette took a deep breath, didn't even know why she started talking to herself, as if her mother was still there 

" I.. When.. I figured I'd come back here, I... thought it would be different.. that would be you and me.. forgiving me for the things I said, drinking that horrible tea you insist on making, something about maintaining our English culture.. but know that tea with milk is horrible..."

Sam is silent for a few seconds before continuing "Mother... i'll try okay... I promise I'll try to take care of her"

" What are you doing?" Question Y/N with his voice angry and loud, almost screaming, which caused Sam to turn sharply toward the voice. 

She stares at Y/N's eyes, which were red- Sam concludes that her sister was crying and full of anger, as if Sam had invaded a sacred place when she was not worthy.

"She was my mother too" 

" Maybe, but I bet that was before you left us" 

" Y/N, I had no option...."

"Everyone has a choice" Interrupts the youngest, Sam takes a deep breath, trying to calm the angry feelings that grew in his heart and keeps his eye on his sister. 

"One day you will understand, now...  Go pack your things, in three days we'll be gone" 

Y/N rolls her eyes, but holds the urge to yell at her sister, because she knew it wouldn't do any good, then she snuffs and goes to her room. Sam lets out a sigh he didn't even know he was holding, looks at picture and whispers

"Give me mom strength" 

Millions of years ago

Etheria

It was after Hordak

"Adora?"

Adora finally comes out of her thoughts and looks towards her voice, smiles at the time seeing that she was her best friend, Glimmer.

"Hi.." 

"Is everythinh all right?"

Glimmer asks slowly approaching and placing a hand on her friend's shoulder. 

"Yes is.. I mean, of course everything's fine, everything's been fine since.. ""

Adora speech, her tone of voice increases according to what she felt, that she was confused and uncertain, but there was a voice, a voice telling her that she should go, go as far as possible, find other galaxies, explore and not stand still, without use, without feeling useful.

Sure, the blonde loves Bright Moon, her galaxy, the planets she explored along with her beloved and friends, loves her life as she is, but something hasn't seemed right since the conversation she owes with Mara years ago. Something about her was still incomplete, perhaps it's the fact that she never knew The First or see if her family was still alive.

"Defeat of the Hordak" 

completes the queen, who lets out a sigh

"What's going on Adora?" 

"I don't know" Confess the woman with clear eyes as she walks away from her friend and leans on the balcony of her room, she closes her eyes and lets out a sigh of frustration 

"I was satisfied with my life, I have everything and I will probably have more, I know I am blessed but there is something, inside me, saying that I need to go beyond what we know, go after the.. my family" 

"Adora..."

"I just need to know the meaning of this feeling, Glimmer.. " 

Adora looks at her friend, who lets out a sigh and approaches the blonde, standing next to her.

"Talked to Catra about this?"

" No... But she knows there's something bothering me." 

" Talk to her before making any decision and know that.. we will be here to support you, after all you are like a sister I never had"  

Adora smiles and hugs Glimmer, who reciprocates with a little force, something told him that they would all be facing a new adventure.

[black-streak]

Saturday night's alright for fighting (but Sundays are meant for rest) - Curious New Hobbies

Part 11!

My god this took a while to write! Special thanks to @st0rmy-w1th1n and @mysnis (hope this is your correct Tumblr) for bouncing ideas with me and @kceedraws for giving permission to use her breakdancing au as inspiration for this!

Tagsss: @persephonebutkore @emjrabbitwolf @mystery-5-5 @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @fandomkitty8 @dast218 @silvergold-swirl @shizukiryuu . @my-name-is-michell @kurogaya913 @elspethshadow @thecatnipmademedoit @shamefullove @ladylucina28 @crazylittlemunchkin @rayray384 @cassiejaydee @yuulxd @ladysblackcat @naclychilli @caffeinetheory

~---~

They had meant to go the arcade for their date tonight. In fact, they'd even walked in and started scoping out games to play, but alas it wasn't to be.

Within moments of arriving, who else but Damian would single Mari out and immediately tell them to leave.

And of course she protested. In response, Damian only pointed at Jon over at the pacman machine (how dare he, that's the game Marinette was searching for!) and mentioned his lack of ability to keep secrets and suddenly she turned and dragged Tim right back out the door.

Walking down the sidewalk, he side eyed her, considering the best way to start his interrogation.

"So. You trying to keep me secret then?"

"No! Of course not. Just might've forgotten to mention something like… over a month ago."

"And it involves not letting Jon know we were there?"

"Only because he's a nark who would've ruined the fun. And heaven knows Damian and I wouldn't be satisfied with a void bet."

"You made a bet about our relationship with Damian?"

"About your family," she partially corrected.

"Do I even want to know."

"Was supposed to tell you a bit ago so you wouldn't ruin the stakes, so probably not, but im telling you anyways."

Sighing with false exasperation, he gestured for her to continue.

"We have an ongoing bet over how long it'll take everyone to figure out that you and I are together and not Dami and me."

With that, she relayed all the details of their bet and his part in it, manic grin spread across her face as her gait gained a small skip to it. Tim couldn't help but shake his head at her antics, amused despite an itch in the back of his mind saying this wouldn't end well.

"Alright, I'll play along. Honestly, I think you'll both lose. Your predictions are too specific. Too many potential outlying factors."

"True, but we did give set time frames. So at least one part of the bet will absolutely be clear on who won. Plus, I find victory in the fact that Damian didn't think of that possibility. That we'd both be wrong."

"On another note, we need to find a plan b. Anything in mind?" He asked, reaching out and snagging her hand to draw her closer. 

Shrugging, she looked about them, seeing if anything caught the eye. Suddenly Tim stopped, accidentally yanking her back when she kept walking. She let out a sound of protest only to see his eyes locked on the building across the way with a considering look. 

The building was gray brick with no windows, however a neon purple sign to the right of the black wood door declared it "The Underground", a well known club amongst Gotham dancers and while neither were necessarily that, word had gotten around enough for both to have heard of the place before from word of mouth.

"How do you feel about checking it out?" Tim asked, a curious look about his eyes, studying her.

"I'm not opposed to the idea. Little surprised you're interested though," she commented, letting him lead the way inside.

A quick ID check and they were in, the room dark with neon tube lights flashing across different surfaces and strategic spotlights placed to bring attention to the various raised platforms. It was strange actually. The wall directly to the left of the hall they entered from held the bar on a raised level only to slide into a ground level dance floor which was normal enough, however in the opposite corner was a raised platform where different people would hop up to take advantage of the spacing to show off both freestyle and blatantly choreographed moves. Another few spotlight platforms raised up randomly in the floor, but the main focus was a rather large circular one in the center of the place, raised just enough to make it easy to see from anywhere in the place, but not so high as to block the view across the way. These places were the most lit up, allowing the anonymity to the dancers below while allotting the attention to those who choose to step up. Beyond that, there were many crevices and alcoves holding tables into the walls and a small hallway across the way presumably heading to the bathrooms. An upper balcony held only the DJ.

While Mari took in her surroundings, she felt Tim lead her out into the crowds, before turning back to her with a questioning look. Leaning in she spoke into his ear, a spark gleaning her eyes, "You've been before, haven't you?"

"A few times. It's the perfect place to destress without the nonsense of keeping an image. As long as you stay in the crowd, no one cares who you are," he replied, spinning her around before stepping in so her back pressed to his chest.  His hands ghosted down her sides to grasp her hips, starting to guide her into the beat.

For a while, they stayed like that, separating slightly and coming back together to follow different dances as the music flowed and changed around them. Turns out Tim was a surprisingly good dancer. 

Cheers broke out as a new song turned over, the first beats of Bum Bum Tam Tam coming over the speakers drawing attention towards the main platform as a pair jumped up, starting to get into the beat, working around each other only to burst into perfectly synced choreography at the first breakdown, resulting in more cheers. The two dancers would break away after that into a more freestyle, only to flow back into more rehearsed moves once more.

"Wait is that," she trailed off to a groan pressed to her shoulder.

"Yeah. That's them. Didn't know they came here."

As the song came to an end and the two on the platform jumped down, they could only stare as none other than Dick and Kori unknowingly made their way towards them. Tim pulled back from Mari subconsciously, not quite comfortable being so fully on display in front of people who actually knew them. Which made exactly zero sense when considering how much they cuddled in the manor. 

Finally the two spotted them, their grins widening and a new energy emerging as they rushed over. 

"Timothy! Starshine! You guys are here!" Came Kori's exuberant greeting, grabbing them both up in a hug.

"Hey, Mar, Damian not like dancing enough? Had to drag Timmy out?" Dick teased.

"Dami's at the arcade with Jon. And actually, coming here was Tim's idea," she answered amicably, conforming to the rules of the bet and not correcting Dick's obvious assumptions. "That was amazing by the way. You two looked great up there!"

Tim smirked down at her, seeing through her antics, especially now that she'd let him in on the rules of her game. Doesn't mean he couldn't play into it himself, he thought as he wrapped an arm around her waist and placed his chin atop her head.

"She's a great dance partner," Tim mentioned after both Kori and Dick had thanked and waved off Mari's compliments. "Considering learning something more structured with her, myself. Maybe give you two a run for your money."

"You definitely should! I can help with figuring out a style for you two if you'd like!" Kori offered immediately as Marinette turned to look at him in excitement.

"She has to agree first. Who knows, maybe this was a fluke and Mari will never dance with me again," he sighed in defeat.

Marinette turned, practically bouncing in anticipation, "Are you kidding? I'd love to! I want to come here again too."

"Even if you don't take my help with the dancing, I can record you two so you can look back and see for any needed improvements? That's what Richard and I do," Kori further offered up, Dick jumping back in right after.

"Oh yeah, it helps immensely. Especially if you were wanting to perform it on the platforms here."

Tim and Mari met eyes, before coming to an agreement, "Yeah, we'd appreciate that actually."

"Great! We'll set up some time here soon. In the meantime, I could definitely use a drink," Dick stated, looking back towards where he'd originally been headed. Kori grabbed onto Marinette instead, leading her back into the fray of dancers.

"We should invite Stephanie next. She would make a most interesting dance partner," Kori rattled on, suggesting a girls night that Mari agreed to immediately before getting back into the music with her new dance partner of the moment, Tim and Dick rejoining them shortly after. 

The night continued on this way, the four trading off between them, two not aware that it'd become a double date by this point. Eventually parting ways from the two, Tim and Mari made their way back towards his apartment, breathless and happy despite the unexpected interruptions to their night.

"How come we never end up at your place?" He asked suddenly.

"Because my apartment has become workzone number 2. Seriously, the place has essentially become a studio for my work that just so happens to have a kitchen and bedroom. Among other secrets not meant to be divulged… yet."

"Is that pertaining to the mystery of your magic."

"Perhaps."

"Mmm, whenever you're ready, I'll be happy to keep them for you. Though I can't imagine anything bigger than holding two technical gods in your pockets at all times."

"Shhh, don't let them hear you say that!"

He only chuckled, leading her into the complex and up to his penthouse. Silence overtaking them until the door had clicked shut.

"You staying the night, sweetheart?" Tim asked, toeing off his shoes and walking towards his room to get changed.

"Mm, think I might," she replied, following him in and stealing a shirt before wandering into the bathroom to get first dibs on a shower. She still found it lucky that while he might be the shortest of his brothers, she was still small enough to be buried in his clothes. Made it easier for night like these.

Finishing up, she plopped herself on his bad as he went to shower as well. 

Eventually, the door reopened, Tim entering in only pajama bottoms, hair still damp and in his face. She hummed her appreciation, enjoying the view and reaching out to tug him closer.

"Is it weird how comfortable we've become in so little time?" 

"Only if you're uncomfortable with it."

"I'm not."

"Good."

With the affirmation, he picked her up only to lay her out further up the bed. Stretching out at her side, he pressed kisses to her cheek and down her neck, hand trailing against exposed skin, clearly enjoying having her in his home, in his bed, in his shirt.

'Hmm, what were two raging insomniacs to do with the rest of their night?'

… 

Bonus:

Not a week later, after a long discussion with Damian to ensure that Kori was not included in the bet and swearing the alien to secrecy, they asked her to film something for them. A dance they had come with that was just for them. Not anything that could be performed in a club or for anyone to see. Maybe one day they'd post it somewhere or show Dick, but for now, it was theirs alone.